


We Burn Like The Stars

by beautifulinquiries



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Angst, Car Accidents, Fighting, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sadness, Smut, This gets really depressing, it's there I promise - Freeform, just a warning, light shoving, some smut, some very very very light kinks in the smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-22 18:33:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 77,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3739051
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifulinquiries/pseuds/beautifulinquiries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You never know the last time you’ll see a place. Or a person. You never know if you'll get to say goodbye</p><p>AU where Harry meets Zayn and they try to hold on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

  * For [itsallaboutzarry](https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsallaboutzarry/gifts).



> This is the second thing I've ever written in my entire life so I hope you like it! I tried to follow your prompt as well as I could. This was a monster of a fic that was suppose to be 13k but turned into this and yeah. Idk. But here you go :]
> 
> I have never written smut before so bear with me on this, please. I tried (and failed) as well as I could.
> 
> I do not own One Direction or their family and this is a fictional representation of all these individuals, with no speculation on who they are as real people. 
> 
> MASSIVE ENORMOUS WONDERFUL thank you to the amazing Gabby who beta'd this for me and has become a really good friend as she helped me when all I wanted to do was quit and cry because I became so frustrated but she kept me going. This wouldn't have gotten done without you, Gabs. All the cookies to you, babe.
> 
> And thank you to the person running this exchange and being so understanding of my circumstances when I was probably hell to deal with. Thank you for everything you've done for this ship and fandom!
> 
> Note*  
> There is light kinks in the warning but it's literally so light dom/bondage that you can barely even call it that. And I suppose the effects of the car accidents might be brutal? I don't know just thought I'd explain that in here.
> 
> All remaining mistakes are my own, and there might be some weird format errors I tried to fix but might not have been able to.
> 
> Enjoy!

Nothing quite adds up to the feeling of being alone, the feeling that sneaks up on you, that grabs your heart and rattles it until you hear the echo inside. The loneliness you feel when it’s ten at night and you see a baby look at its mother with loving eyes, or when a couple passes by holding hands, whispering gentle breaths into each other’s mouths. The kind of loneliness you feel rolling off you in the shower, where you try to wash it away with warm water but it sticks to you like a tattoo, marking its place on your skin with permanent ink that doesn’t seem to fade.

Loneliness like that fixes on you and holds you captive, it makes you want something that you cannot have.

But what if you could?

                                                                                                    +++

 

When Harry gets off the bus in front of his school on the first day back from winter break, he’s met with crisp air that bites at his face and fingers, trying to seep into his body through his two layers of clothing. Winter always had a way of making him hate the morning, overcast skies making him squint harshly and a wind trying to turn him into ice. It is his favorite season, but he’ll never come to love these brutal mornings.

He starts walking toward one of the many lecture halls for his Intro to Literature class that he’s taking this term. He’s nineteen and only in his second year of uni, so he decided to take a class not needed for his major and he’s always loved literature.

He walks into class and settles into a seat, quickly taking out his tablet for notes and starts scrolling through his email, looking for any news on his applications for internships or maybe emails from his gram that he never really looks at. As he’s scrolling however, something heavy and sturdy falls into his lap, almost knocking his tablet over from the little desk attached to the seat. Harry sees it is a backpack, and not just anyone’s backpack, but _Niall’s_ backpack, and dear God.

This class just became so much more bearable.

As expected, when Harry looks up he’s met with piercing blue eyes and a gleaming smile smacked onto a nicely sculpted face. Niall is Harry’s best friend here; the school had paired them as roommates last year and they met promptly after they had said their goodbyes to their families. They both had wide eyes and a bundle of nerves forming from everything new they were surrounded by, but they found they got on brilliantly. Needless to say, Harry got one look at the Irish boy in front of him and he never looked back. His best friend, however, did not tell him he was taking this class, and he didn’t expect to find him here when Niall is a Film and Creative Studies major.

“Mate, as much as I love you, you need to take your shit. It’s heavy” Harry groans as Niall moves to sit down at the little makeshift seat/desk to the right of him.

“Hi to ya too.” Niall says as he flops down, lifting his pack from Harry’s lap and placing it on the floor by his feet, which is sure to trip others when they try to squeeze by them to get to the seats in the middle of the row.

Harry rolls his eyes but he smiles anyway, happy to have Niall in this class with him. It looks like he won’t be dreading this class at all.

“I thought you finished all your pre major courses already?” Harry says, turning to face Niall.

“So did I, but me counselor told me last quarter I had to take one more class to finish the, er, I think this fulfills my writing requirement? English? I don’t know, somethin’ of that sort. So I’m here. Did you bike?” Niall finishes with a knowing smile.

Harry makes a face at that. “I hate biking in the mornings. It’s too cold and it takes forever for me to feel my hands again. I can’t even type for the first half hour of class” he argues.

Now it’s Niall’s turn to roll his eyes. “Yeah yeah, same argument as last year. We both know it’s just because you don’t want to mess up your hair.”

Harry puts on a pout, even though they both know it’s true.

“Where even were you this morning? I got up at like, half nine and I couldn’t hear you snoring” asks Harry.

“Wouldn’t ya like to know” replies Niall, pinching Harry’s cheek as he says it.

“Have mercy” replies Harry, trying to swat Niall away.

They both quiet down as class starts, the same every time, with a dull looking professor who hands out the syllabus and goes over the expectations of the class. He covers everything from assignments to the policy over plagiarism and honestly Harry stops listening about five minutes in. It’s usually all the same stuff that every professor covers anyway.

An hour and ten minutes later, the class is dismissed as the professor talks about a writing assignment due this week in their section, which of course, time to college again, Styles. As he and Niall stand to exit the room, someone pushes Harry from behind and almost causes him to fall on top of Niall, though he manages to catch himself before falling on the boy. Harry turns to scowl at the person behind him but as he turns, he blanks.

He finds himself faced with a very handsome face, with gleaming light brown eyes framed by thick, onyx glasses. Raven black hair styled into a fringe crowns his head beautifully, in a “just off the runway” way. And _wow_ , okay Harry has never seen this guy before because he knows he would remember that face.

Christ this guy is beautiful.

He’s too busy staring that he misses what Pretty Boy says, earning him a quizzical look and an elbow from Niall behind him, probably wondering why Harry’s blocking the row full of people trying to move on to their next class.

Harry shakes his head before saying, “Sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

Pretty Boy smirks, like he knows why Harry is reacting the way he is, and to be honest, he probably does.

A laugh escapes Pretty Boy’s very pretty pink, thin lips – which, okay, still in public Harry- before he says “I was just saying sorry. My friend here is very impatient and thinks pushing makes people go faster” and oh gosh his _voice_. He has a thick accent, soothing as he draws out his syllables. He kind of sounds like everything he says is an open thought, one without an ending.

Harry really likes his voice, he thinks as he continues to stare.

He quickly recovers, very aware of how creepy his silence must appear, and responds with a quick “It’s alright” and a friendly smile before turning to follow Niall’s path out of the row. Niall says something to him but Harry doesn’t hear it, instead listening behind him to Pretty Boy’s conversation with someone with a higher pitched voice, which, as Harry realizes, probably belongs to the impatient pusher.

“What was that?” says the voice, tone slightly annoyed.

“I almost fell on him because you pushed me. Impatient twat” comes from Pretty Boy, and yeah, Harry definitely liked his voice.

Their conversation is harder to catch as they make their way to the exit on the other side of the room that leads to the bike lot, the one Harry doesn’t need to go to because he doesn’t ride his bike to class.

Niall!

Niall does though, Harry quickly remembers, so naturally he quickly pushes Niall to the door to follow them.

“What the- Harry. What’s gotten into you? Jesus Christ, quit pushing will ya?!” Niall half shouts as Harry keeps pushing him toward the door, eager to catch up.

“Shhh Niall, we’re just leaving.”

“To the bike lot? You don’t even have a bike here? Bloody hell, STOP PUSHING.”

“Then walk faster” Harry says as he stops pushing Niall through the door, walking fast and leaving behind a flustered Niall who mutters something about symptoms of insanity and finding new friends. Harry, however, does not stop as his eyes search the bike lot, looking for that black hair. He didn’t catch what Pretty Boy was wearing, but it doesn’t matter because he can’t find that face anywhere. His eyes quickly scan the bike lot, but there are probably about three hundred students blurring together in a frenzy as they try to unlock their bikes and make their way to the bike path. Chaos does not justly describe the insanity a student encounters when trying to leave class, one of the main reasons Harry hates biking.

That and his hair, of course, and oh, right, hair-

He waits another minute, but he doesn’t spot Pretty Boy and he suddenly feels a bit odd for openly stalking someone he barely spoke three words to.

He turns and makes his way back to Niall, who is looking at him like he’s mad.

Niall is probably the most cheerful person Harry has ever met; he never gets angry and even if he does, it’s usually over football, which usually results in him taking out his guitar and working out his frustration over the strings.

Or, if they’re in a pub, then angry yawping and gesticulating until the bartender yells a warning about not breaking their TV because, well, that _has_ happened.

One time. Only one time.

Regardless, Niall is not one to become easily aggravated over the odd actions of his close mates.

He, however, as a close mate, is not one to skip on the embarrassment of said mate, and this definitely falls under that category.

“See someone interesting?” Niall asks as a knowing smile takes over his face, all too aware of the bloke Harry was talking to.

“No. Shut up.” Harry says as he turns to walk away, eager to leave the lot, and more importantly, Niall behind.

“Yes you did” says a voice with a thick Irish accent and oh fucking great. This is going to be the longest class of his life.

“I thought I saw someone I knew” Harry responds, hoping that it will deter Niall from bringing up pretty boy.

“In the bike lot. While we were inside. On the other side of the room, that has no windows.” And honestly Harry hates Niall. Fucking Irish bastard.

“Yes… I saw them walking out.” Harry says.

“Who then?”

And honestly, Harry knows he lost this round seeing as how anyone Harry knows that he would talk to, Niall also knows. Perks of being roommates.

Curse everything.

“No one important.” They’re walking toward the fast food chains along the main street now.

“That’s why you almost fucking pushed me to my death of trampling uni kids? For no one important?”

“Niall, have I ever told you I hate you?” Harry sighs.

“Awww, Harry’s upset” Niall responds with a smile in his voice, throwing his arm over Harry’s shoulders.

It’s teasing but not chiding, and Harry smiles because as much as Niall is a wanker, he’s also the best person he knows.

He, however, does not know when to drop a subject, obviously, and says “He was fit,” causing Harry to stop walking.

The thing is that Niall knows Harry is gay. He’s the first person Harry told other than Jonathan, his best friend back home, and the first person he told here. He didn’t have the option to be out at home, his parents being religiously conservative and all. He has never actually kissed a boy, even though he’s been here for a year. Seeing as how he can’t even find the courage to snog anyone, sex is definitely out of the picture; but it all comes down to him being able to feel free for once, in a place with people he loves and accepts him for who he is.

Niall knows all that, but he also knows it’s still a sensitive subject sometimes for Harry. It is who he is, he knows that now, and he’s finally allowing himself to actually be unafraid here at uni. It’s a process, however, and because of that, Niall has always been somewhat gentle when approaching the subject, and Harry loves him for it. He really is one of the best friends a guy could have.

“He was, wasn’t he?” Harry chuckles, smiling as Niall leads him toward the burger joint on the main street, talking about how he knew he was going to take his daily nap in that class.

Harry tries to forget about Pretty Boy.

For now.

+++

 

That is, until Harry walks into section five minutes late on the first day and takes the last open seat left.

Which, of course, happens to be right behind a boy with broad, beautiful shoulders and coal black hair.

Pretty Boy is in his section.

He’s right in front of Harry, and he’s in his section, and he is so fucked on getting a good grade in this class.

The teacher gives the person in the beginning of the aisle a syllabus to pass back to Harry as he starts to go over it, talking about mandatory attendance and the assignments and all the same stuff as every other section. The syllabus meant for him, however, is now in the hands of Pretty Boy and he passes it back over his shoulder, not bothering to look at who is behind him. Harry feels a pang of something resembling disappointment until he sees a beautifully designed tattoo on Pretty Boy’s left hand, intricate patterns that beautifully stains his skin in jagged perplexity, like a crown on his hand. Harry stares a second too long and Pretty Boy turns around to see why Harry hasn’t taken the paper yet; when their eyes meet, something’s different in Harry.

It’s not like in the romantic novels or movies where time stops and all is suspended around them and all that blubbering nonsense. He is definitely aware of the girl in the row next to them, smacking her gum a little too loud for classroom etiquette; or the two friends in the left corner of the room whispering and lightly laughing. He can detect a hint of cinnamon, which he attributes with the gum Pretty Boy seems to be chewing, each smack of his lips like a new wave to Harry’s face. He definitely is aware of the teacher still going over the syllabus, probably about to call him and Pretty Boy out for not paying attention. He is acutely aware of everything around him, but something in him tenses and relaxes, like stretching out a tense muscle. He can hear the blood pumping in his ears, and he can feel the buzzing of his fingertips where they ache to reach out and touch. There’s a knot in his stomach, and he can feel his breath become shaky as he looks into golden brown eyes.

Pretty Boy stares back, not giving him a weird look but rather having an odd expression of his own, like he’s searching for something in Harry, and Harry knows his eyes must be doing the same. Their trance like state, however, doesn’t last long because Pretty Boy smirks again, just like in lecture, and quietly says “It’s not polite to stare”.

Harry’s eyes widen in disbelief because,what? This guy put Harry on the spot for the very thing _he_ was just doing, yet he still somehow makes Harry feel a bit embarrassed. He hopes the pink he feels in his cheeks can still be mistaken for the cold outside, but he quickly grabs the paper out of Pretty Boy’s hands and mumbles a quiet “thanks” just to end this conversation because honestly Harry’s not together enough for this.

When Harry doesn’t say anything else, pretty boy turns around to pay attention, quickly putting an end to what seemed to be a painfully long contact to Harry but in reality was about a minute interlude.

No matter how many times Harry tries to pay attention to the TA, he doesn’t catch a word of what he is saying, mainly due to a tattoo peeking out from the neckline of the boy’s shirt in front of him, which, okay, that doesn’t help Harry focus.  The next forty minutes consist of Harry thinking about whether or not Pretty Boy has more tattoos and where and what they looked like and how they would taste and-

_Chill, Harry._

He cannot for the life of him remember the last time someone had this powerful of an effect on him. Which okay, Jonathan did, but that’s not exactly something he wants to think about.

When class gets out, Harry stays behind so that he can make sure the TA does not mark him absent and end up dropping him from the class, and it’s in the corner of his eye that he sees Pretty Boy idling by a desk, watching him. And if that makes the hair on the back of his neck stand a little, well he would never admit it.

The TA looks over at him, finally, and he politely introduces himself and explains why he is late, all the time very aware of the presence behind him. He can feel the weight of it pushing on him, stirring his blood and attaching to the nerves along his spine.  His words come out laced with a hint of exasperation, and he knows he sounds odd but he cannot get his stupid body under control.

Once the TA has successfully taken down his name and Harry has made him laugh at least once, for good measure, Harry dismisses himself. He turns right in Pretty Boy’s direction, and the guy does not try to hide the fact that he’s openly staring. Harry keeps his eye before letting a smile form, one of his more cheeky ones. He knows how to work himself to get what he wants, and even though this guy is a complete stranger and could be straight for all Harry knows, well there’s no shame in having a little fun with it.

Pretty Boy does not smile back, instead he just nods his head at Harry without ever lifting his piercing gaze as Harry walks toward the door. The TA must have finally noticed him because just when Harry is about to pass through the door, that’s when he hears it.

“Zayn, what can I do for you?”

_Zayn_

Harry makes it outside before he does something stupid, like turn around, and once he’s out the door he allows the frigid air to try to clear his head.

_Zayn_

But of course it doesn’t work and that one single word echoes in his mind for the remainder of the night. From when he’s eating dinner with Niall on their old, worn out couch, through the entire time he’s watching the newest Batman movie with Liam (again, because he’s a damn good best mate), to even after his bed routine of brushing his teeth, washing his face and stripping down to climb under the covers. Throughout it all, that name is burning a hole in his consciousness, stirring up scenarios and hopes and wishes and doubts and everything it shouldn’t because fucking hell, Harry doesn’t even _know_ the guy.

But he says it out loud, in the darkness of his room that he hopes shields him from anyone else hearing him.

“Zayn”

It rolls off his tongue like honey, pouring out into the air around him until he feels suffocated by the weight of desire he hears in his own voice.

He drifts to sleep with the image of light brown eyes staring back at him against the black of his eyelids.

 

 

                                                                             +++

 

 

He doesn’t see Zayn in his lectures for the rest of the week, and it is understandable seeing as how the class they are in consists of so many students. And it is not like Harry has been actively seeking Zayn’s black mop from among the heads of the people around him. He hasn’t. Of course not.

On Friday, however, Harry walks home after class with a buzz in his bones and a jump in his step. It’s the first Friday back to school, and he already knows Niall and Liam are planning on hitting the pubs tonight and getting shit faced beyond measure. This week has been stressful for all of them, especially Liam who is in his third year, and they honestly all need some alcohol induced fun. 

As Harry walks through the door of his building, he can feel powerful vibrations under his feet and he smiles to himself. Niall is the king of pre-gaming before a night out, and Harry is (for once) looking forward to it. Sure enough, the closer he gets to his flat, the stronger the vibrations become, as well as the music from a dubstep remix to the song _Rude_ that Niall had showed him a couple months ago.  When he finally reaches his door, the music is so loud he can hear it perfectly even though he’s not even inside the flat yet. He finds his key and tries to unlock the door, battling against the restraint he always encounters because his lock is shit and they always have trouble opening it.

 Finally, the lock unwinds and the door opens.

 The music is what hits Harry the hardest as the door had been some barrier from the full blast of the stereo system. The bass is in full throttle, emulating in waves off the system and filling up the entire flat with its power. The melody and some weird distorted noises follow along with it, and Harry can already feel the muscles in his neck and shoulders start to relax and unwind. 

The door opens to the living room with the kitchen to the left, with a counter makeshift wall creating a barrier between the two rooms. Every manageable surface is littered with cups and soda bottles, the liquor bottles resting on the kitchen counter (Niall’s rule). 

Malibu and Bacardi catch Harry’s eye first, surrounded by plastic shot glasses and one double shot glass that might have a ruler painted on it which might _somehow_ allude to penis size. Maybe. Niall might have brought it back with him from his vacation trip to LA last summer. Harry might have gotten fucked up from it a couple of times. Maybe.

Harry sees a bottle of Jack Daniels and another of Sky Vodka on the counter, opened and already poured and he knows the good number of people in his flat are halfway, if not already drunk. The living room has about twenty people in it, some crowding around their beer pong table they bought last year as a housewarming gift for themselves and other sitting on the couches watching or chatting amongst themselves.

There are girls and boys yelling conversations and chants over the music, and Harry can hear the drunkenness before he sees it, or smells it for that matter. He spots Niall toward the far right corner of the room, chatting up some bird with Liam next to him, laughing along as Niall continues to be telling some apparently hilarious story. They lock eyes and Niall smiles wide, lifting his cup and letting out some sort of manly grunt, his usual form of greeting people. Harry smiles and nods his head toward the direction of the rooms, lifting his pack so Niall can see that he’s going to put his stuff away.

Otherwise, he knows Niall will follow him and demand his presence and whine dramatically and Harry prefers to get ready alone and linger in peace before a hectic night.

Niall nods back, understanding, and Harry goes to his room, greeting people on his way and promising to be right out. His room is the first door on the left, the only single bedroom; it was a gift from his parents for his high GPA and the extracurricular activities he had done. There is a bathroom next to him, the second door on the left. Niall and Liam’s shared double is the door you walk into if you keeping walking straight from the hallway. On the right hand side of the hallway, there is a door that opens to a minute jacket closet, where they mostly store the vacuum and board games they each brought from home. Right next to the closet is a window sized hole set up as the linens closet, a small space just big enough for three boys who own a pair of bed sheets each and three extra towels to their name. All in all, they have a decent sized flat for three students.

The barrier of his door does nothing to shut out the volume of the commotion taking place in his living room, but Harry just moves along to the beat as he dresses, choosing his favorite pair of black skinny jeans that have leather on the knees. He also finds his favorite white button up shirt, fastening every button and pulling on the ends to smooth out any wrinkles or weird spaces where the shirt doesn’t sit right. The sleeves are then rolled up to just below his elbows, and he clasps on his watch that he forgot to put on this morning. He styles his hair up in an expert quiff, slightly to the right, something he mastered his first year of uni. There is a small battle between his old converses and his Chelsea boots, and in the end the boots come on. He then stops and studies his reflection in the mirror.

Let the night begin.

Harry leaves his coat in his room, the flat already ten degrees pass comfortable with all the people and breathing occurring in a crowded setting. He opens a window for some fresh air, and sees some people through their glass sliding door, standing on the balcony and chatting. This could turn out to be a huge party if they let it, but they much rather not be evicted or have all their neighbors hate them. Mrs. Williams on their floor makes the most delicious cookies on Christmas that they fight over every year, and it would be a tragedy to not be on her mailing list.

He greets people as he sees them, all smiles and hugs and handshakes. They all ask about how his break went, and he tells of Christmas in Holmes Chapel and visiting the bakery he use to work at and helping mum with the Christmas dinner. He asks about their New Years and enjoys the stories they tell of siblings and pets and drunken adventures.

He finally makes his way back to Niall and Liam, the girl from earlier gone, just the two talking to each other. When Niall finally sees Harry, he turns his head toward him, Liam following suit.

“Fucking finally, mate. Was ‘bout to ring ya and track ya down” says Niall, taking a swig of the beer he’s currently cradling in his hands.

“Why did you just get home? I thought your class ended at three?” asks Liam, who snaches Niall’s beer and takes a drink even as Niall starts to whine and his brows get all scrunched together.

“Oi! That’s mine. Fetch yourself one if you’re thirsty.”

“Hop off it, mate. Just taking one drink.”

“Well take one drink of your own then, _mate_.”

Harry starts to laugh because nothing sets Niall off like his beers being stolen from him.

“I had to meet with one of my professors to talk about an assignment, which is already due next week. This term is going to be the death of me, I swear” finally replies Harry.

“Hey, no more talk of school. If I hear one more word about school or syllabi or assignments, I swear I’ll drown myself in the toilet. Nothing tonight but alcohol, friends, and horrible decision making. All agreed? Yes, thank you.”

Harry and Liam laugh at Niall, but Harry’s laugh gets stuck in his throat when he sees someone with familiar black hair and beautiful brown eyes walk into the room.

Zayn just walked through Harry’s door, and Harry is pretty sure his stomach is somewhere in the soles of his shoes.

The raven haired boy is followed by another bloke, who is also extremely fit and has these beautiful blue eyes. He has soft brown hair that gently falls over the top of his face, and he is just a little shorter than Zayn. Harry recognizes him as the other boy from their class, the one who pushed Zayn into Harry the first day. A tall blond stands behind both of them, about Harry’s height, and Harry can see the guy’s hazel green eyes from across the room. Blondie looks pretty familiar, but he abandons the thought as he looks again at Zayn, who is too busy glancing around to notice Harry staring. Blue Eyes doesn’t seem to miss the way Harry gives Zayn a once over, however, and it’s enough to make Harry break away from staring and turn back to Niall.

He tries to even out his breathing, but he can feel the back of shirt begin to stick to his skin from the sweat accumulating there.

Bleeding Christ. He’s in his own bloody apartment and it’s barely nine in the evening but he feels like he’s just ran a marathon.

Just as he’s about to excuse himself, he hears someone yell out Niall’s name, and Harry knows it’s from Zayn direction. He, Liam and Niall all turn at once, and Niall’s face breaks into a blinding smile as he recognizes someone.

“Jace!”

Jace?

The blond starts to move toward him and _oh right_. Jace is Niall’s friend from back home who had also moved here for uni. Harry met him, once, at the very beginning of their first year, but Niall never seemed to really bring him around, opting for meeting new people and branching out. Harry didn’t even know they kept in touch, but apparently Niall thought it enough to invite him to his pregame. He also looks different, his hair shorter and his clothes seem to be tighter, a stark difference from the long haired, baggy clothed lad he was first introduced to.

Jace knows Zayn and Blue Eyes, apparently, and now that Niall and Jace have shouted at each other, Zayn finally looks their way and his eyes lock with Harry’s. His eyebrows shoot up momentarily before the settle naturally.

So he definitely remembers Harry then. Which okay, is something at least.

Niall and Jace collide in the middle, all hugs and pats on the back and laughs as they greet each other. Liam and Harry hover back behind Niall, and Zayn and Blue Eyes seem to be doing the same behind Jace. Zayn still hasn’t looked away, however, and Harry finally gives him a smile which seems to loosen something in Zayn as he smiles back, still somewhat guarded. Blue Eyes and Liam give each other a once over, and if Harry didn’t believe Liam was straighter than a ruler, he would think maybe he was checking the bloke out. It all seems a bit standoffish between the four, Jace and Niall in their own little comfortable bubble.

Finally ( _finally_ ), Niall turns Jace’s attention to the two of them.

“Jace, you remember Harry right? My roommate last year? And this is Liam, a good friend and also our flatmate this year.”

Jace smiles at both of them and extends his hand, Harry taking it first.

“Harry, hey. Long time it’s been.”

Harry smiles and pretends he didn’t forget Jace existed somewhere on their campus.

“Hey. Yeah, been a long time, hasn’t it? I’ve not seen you around campus or anything.”

“Yeah, I was hired as the school paper’s new editor. It takes up all of my time and gives me these massive migraines but I love it.” Jace responds with a shrug.

After shaking Liam’s hand and exchanging hellos, Jace turns to the two still lingering behind him, quiet as mice.

“These are my two flatmates, Zayn and Louis.”

They both step forward to shake hands with all three boys, and when it’s Zayn and Harry’s turn, Harry makes sure to squeeze Zayn’s hand.

Zayn looks at him oddly for just a moment too long, and Harry puts on his best smile and says, oh so casually, “It’s not polite to stare.”

Zayn’s eyes pop wide, and then narrow down as he takes his hand back. He smiles at Harry, enough to not be menacing but cold enough to not be friendly.

The other four look between them, confused at what just happened.

Niall laughs a bit awkwardly at the silence and Jace smiles too, hoping to ease some of the tension.

“Do you two know each other?” Louis asks, not taking his eyes off Harry.

“He’s the one you made me fall on in lecture the other day” replies Zayn, and the things his voice does to Harry is something he’s pretty sure is not describable with words.

Niall’s head snaps back to give Zayn a once over, and then his eyes come to settle again on Harry, that horrible, irritating smirk he gets when he catches on to something.

Harry wants to punch it off his face.

Louis decides then to tilt his head and send Harry a smile. “So you’re the one slower than rocks? Sorry about that mate, had to wee the entire time in there.”

Harry laughs, a little confused at Louis’s nature because did he apologize for the slight insult or the push or both or?

“It’s all right. Duty calls and all that” says Harry with a friendly tone, but he can feel the tension cling to muscles with the force of Zayn’s gaze.

“What class is this?” asks Liam, who seems to have magically produced a beer from somewhere.

“Intro to Literature” replies all four of them at the same time in monotone voices, causing them all to laugh and Harry to look down at his boots.

He looks at Zayn again, but Zayn’s faced is turned away as he and Louis seem to be having a hushed conversation. Louis’s face is still facing Harry however, and he catches Harry’s eyes just as Harry was about to say something; the whole situation getting to him.

He recovers quickly, however, and remembers his manners. “Anyone want a drink?” he offers, walking backwards toward the kitchen.

“Grab me a beer, please” answers Liam, Niall hollers his agreement to Liam’s request, while Jace politely declines.

Zayn looks up at Harry’s voice and says “I’ll come with.”

Harry doesn’t realize he’s swallowing until he almost chokes on his spit.

He somehow manages to form a smile, until he sees Louis lift his eyes and put a hand on Zayn’s arm.

“Mix me a drink, will ya babe?” Louis asks, batting his eyes as Zayn rolls his.

Babe, huh?

Alright then.

Zayn relents with a “yeah sure” and starts making his way toward Harry and the kitchen.

Harry leads the way, the air between them feeling like they’re tangled in sheets.

It is his flat, however, so he should be the one to break the silence, right? Right.

Right?

“I’ve not seen you in lecture lately.”

That’s not too forward right?

It’s horribly forward.

Smooth Styles.

He opens the fridge to grab the beers (and to also hide the embarrassment he’s sure is showing on his face) as he waits for Zayn’s reply.

“That’s because I’ve not been this week.”

It’s enough to make Harry stand back from the fridge and lean against the counter behind him, as it seems Zayn isn’t going to take the piss out of Harry’s weird stalker statement.

“Oh? Why is that?” Harry says, offering Zayn a beer which he takes. He comes to lean against the opposite counter, facing his body toward Harry.

“Dunno. Didn’t seem like anything important. It’s only the first week, plus Louis went so I just grabbed the notes from him.”

_Louis calls him babe and gives him notes and they live together_ , Harry thinks.

_Shut the fuck up Styles._

“Well that’s convenient, innit? For your boyfriend to have the same class as you.” Harry says with a smile.

Zayn freezes a bit, however, but it’s only for a split second and Harry would not have been able to catch it if he wasn’t already staring.

“Not together, mate. Not that I blame you for assuming, Louis’s fit as fuck” Zayn says as he takes a drink of his beer.

“Shit. I didn’t mean to, like- I mean he said babe and, I just-“ and Harry cuts off, feeling the heat of his blush all the way down his back. “Sorry” he finishes off, nodding his head once in his flustered state.

But Zayn just looks at him with a friendly smile, not seemingly put off by Harry’s words, which is something at least.

“It’s all right. Everyone thinks that’s something, because Louis’s my best mate and he’s gay. We just get on very well. Like brothers.”

Harry smiles back, relieved. “I apologize, though. I have a history of assuming things. But I do understand that, however. Niall and Liam are family and people sometimes think Niall and Liam are together and have been for some time, even though they’re not and we all met when we started uni.”

Zayn nods back, talking around the head of the bottle he’s holding by his lips.

“Louis and I have known each other since I was about ten, when he moved to Bradford from Doncaster and into the house next to mine. Been hooked ever since, partners in crime and all that” he says before taking another swig of beer, catching a stray drop as it rolls off his lips and down his chin.

Harry follows the movement with his eyes.

“Niall seems like a good guy, what with all Jace said about him on the way over here.” Zayn continues, acting like he didn’t see Harry’s eyes watching him. “Nice place by the way, don’t know if I said that yet or not.”

“He’s one of the best people you’ll ever meet. And thanks, I like it here. A lot better than our dorm last year,” says Harry.

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. We had ants everywhere and there was this smell that I cannot begin to think about without wanting to throw up. The walls were extremely thin, too, so Niall and I would go to sleep with the sounds of our neighbor getting off every night.”

Zayn snorts out a laugh, and Harry’s sure it’s about as adorable as puppies with bows on them.

“Every night?” Zayn asks around a smile.

“Every night. Pretty sure he had a bird with him a couple times, but there was always something happening around eleven at night and we knew it was coming because he would put a playlist on.”

Zayn actually laughs at that, short and loud and then his mouth closes back into a smile. It was a beautiful sound, sending shivers along Harry’s spin and through his nerves.

“No, really?” he asks.

“I swear. We would hear the opening notes to that one Marvin Gaye tune, “Let’s Get It On”, and it was always the first one on that playlist so we would know it was time.” Harry says back, also laughing.

“That’s horrible” replies Zayn, still staring at Harry.

Harry looks back, all smiles and chuckles, and they both just let their gazes linger. It doesn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable; Zayn’s gaze isn’t as sharp anymore. His eyes seem to stare warmly, and Harry feels his eyes doing the same, both of them caught up in their easy bubble.

Someone clears their throat from behind Harry, startling both of them and they both turn their bodies away from each other, as if that will erase whatever was happening right then and there.

Liam is walking around the counter, watching the two of them with an amused expression, his lips twitching.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, although his tone implies he already knows the answer.

Zayn smiles back, all cool and collected while Harry fumbles and is pretty sure he’s nearly pissed himself.

Such polar opposites.

“Nah, we were just trading war stories about living in the dorms last year. Well, Harry was at least.” Zayn says as he nods toward Harry, his body still faced away from him.

Harry starts because Zayn just said his name, and the way he rolled off his tongue sends electric currents down Harry’s spine, all the way to the pads of his toes.

He then remembers he was in the middle of a conversation.

Clearing his throat, Harry tries to school his face into something calm, even though if he listens closely, he can hear the butterflies pounding against the walls of his stomach.

“Yeah, telling him about that one lad who wanked every night. Remember the first time you came over and heard it?”

Liam smiles at that, a laugh escaping him and the sound filling up the space.

“I haven’t thought of that in ages. It was the weirdest moment of my life. I swear, I can’t listen to “Let’s Get It On” without thinking of it.” Liam says as he shakes his head, laughing at the end. “Do you remember how we ended up having to leave because we were laughing too much and he heard us?”

“It was brilliant, mate” Harry says, laughing and grabbing his stomach, already feeling the strain of the muscles there.

“My dorm was not nearly as interesting” replies Zayn, who is still smiling and oh so beautiful. Harry wants to kiss him raw.

“I’m sure it was, and I look forward to hearing about it once Harry here hands me some beers we’ve been waiting on. I think your friend, Louis was it, I think he’s also waiting for his drink.” Liam says.

He also opens the fridge and grabs two beers, having already given up on what he just said about Harry getting them and doing it himself. Zayn, on the other hand, grabs a plastic cup and starts to fill it with vodka and Red Bull. Once finished, he grabs another beer from the fridge and turns back to Harry and Liam and mutters “cheers.”

They walk back to the living room, where Louis is explaining something with wild gestures as Jace laughs and Niall watches with amusement. When they see the trio from the kitchen appear, Niall mutters “fucking finally” and takes the beer Liam had already opened for him.

Zayn makes his way back to Louis’s side, offering him his drink. “Took ya long enough” Louis says sweetly, taking his cup. His smile fades into a frown when Zayn elbows him in the ribs, for good measure Harry assumes.

Zayn looks to catch Harry watching, and he smirks. Harry gives him a cheeky smile, and Louis looks between them, confused.

“Alright, well I called next round for beer pong. Who’s going to join me?” asks Niall.

“Me and you against Louis and Harry” calls Jace, already following behind and cracking his knuckles in an intimidating manner.

Louis and Harry look at each other and shrug, following suit.

Let the night begin.

+++

 

 

Harry doesn’t remember his head hurting this badly last night. Or ever, for that matter. He can’t seem to remember a lot of things at the moment, like last night for example.

He opens his eyes and sees that he’s in his room, which is good. _That’s_ a good sign, at least. His shirt is bunched up next to his shoes, adjacent to his bed and Harry barely registers that there’s a second pile of clothes right next to his when suddenly he hears a slight snoring from behind him.

He freezes, surprise and anxiety pumping into his veins as he tries to remember last night. There were two pubs and a club; there was also multiple shots and maybe some weed passed between seven mouths. There was also an incredibly beautiful man with deep blue eyes who kept giving Harry looks while Harry stared at someone else the entire night.

Oh God, he was so horribly hammered.

His eyes strain as he examines the shirt and shoes, hoping for something similar to what he saw Niall wearing or the shoes Liam always wears on nights out because they’ve all shared a bed at one point together, sometimes all three of them piling in and curling into a twist of elbows and knees and curses.

But the pile next to his doesn’t resemble anything Niall or Liam wear and when he shifts his eyes to the alarm clock by his bed, he sees them.

Thick, black glasses sitting right in front of the clock, the black of the frame blurring the 8:26 am he sees in red behind them.

Harry doesn’t wear glasses.

Niall has 20/20 vision.

Liam’s too stubborn to go to the optometrist.

And _oh fuck_.

The snoring behind him quiets until it’s just deep breathing, and Harry turns as quietly and slowly as he can, doing his best not to induce anymore pain on his head than necessary. His racing thoughts cause wounds to the walls of his brain; any quick movements will surely kill him.

Suddenly, Harry smells cinnamon.

He manages to turn all the way and his eyes land on a sleepy Zayn, on his front with his head on the pillow he’s sharing with Harry, facing him. His eyes are open, barely, and it’s obvious that he’s just woken up. He meets Harry’s eyes, and neither of them move, the light from the window above them showering them with sharp white light, highlighting their faces. Harry’s sure he’s never seen a sight so beautiful, and he feels powerful want begin to bloom in his stomach.

Which is of course when his stomach kicks in and tries to fight its way out of his body, namely through his mouth.

He manages to get out of bed quickly enough that he makes it to the garbage can in his room, his stomach unleashing its contents as wave after wave of nausea hits him. He feels tears spill over as his nose starts to runs and this is most likely the worst moment of his entire life.

He’s debating suffocating himself with the plastic bag in the trash can when he feels a light touch on his back, rubbing circles into his hot skin. He sags at the touch, trying not to lean into it but hoping to calm the battle in his stomach. He knows he looks awful and he doesn’t want to get up and face Zayn looking like utter shit.

That’s when he sees Zayn offer him the box of tissues from his desk, holding it out for

And okay.

Harry takes some tissues and cleans himself, wiping his skin clean and his eyes dry.

When he stands, the ground beneath him wobbles as the walls start to spin and he feels himself about to fall until a pair of hands grab at his arms, steadying him.

“Easy there” Zayn says in a groggy voice, deep and soft and if all the blood wasn’t pumping through Harry’s ears he’s sure it would be shooting straight to his dick.

He guides Harry over to the bed, sitting him down on the edge as Zayn continues standing. His chest is naked but he’s still got on his jeans, exposing miles of clear and inked skin on his torso and Harry thinks he’s going to throw up again.

“Sorry, I think I’m still a bit drunk” says Harry somewhat casually, as if this wasn’t the weirdest situation he’s ever been in. Why the hell is Zayn in his bed?? And why are they both shirtless?? And _oh god_ -

“What are you doing here?” asks Harry, lifting his head but keeping his eyes closed until the waves of nausea settle.

“Well, uh- we were pretty pissed last night, you more so than me. I think you had a drinking contest with Niall?”

Harry’s eyes spring open, then shut again as another wave of nausea and pain lap at his insides.

“I entered a drinking contest with an Irishman?!” Harry weakly squawks, cringing again and goddamnit he needs to stop moving. And breathing. He needs to just stop _being_ so he can crawl away from this moment.

He hears Zayn chuckle even though he doesn’t open his eyes to see him.

“I think, uh, Liam? Yeah, I think Liam cut you off after about six shots, and good thing he did because you were completely gone, mate.  Like you were really feeling it. Got on top of the table when ‘Barbie Girl’ started playing, if I remember correctly.”

Harry wants to die.

“You’re kidding” he says, sinking his head further into his hands. There’s no way he’s looking at Zayn now, definitely not.

“ “M not. I think Niall recorded it.” Zayn says, his voice trying and failing to hide a laugh.

“Oh my God” replies Harry, and he leans to his side to lie down, shoving his face into his pillow and muttering things about never showing his face again and dying a hermit with a beard and no hygiene.

That, however, doesn’t explain why Zayn is currently in his room.

“How did you end up in my bed?” he asks, looking at Zayn with one eye opened and the

other still hidden in the pillow.

The other boy gives no sign of awkwardness as he walks over to sit on the floor by

Harry’s head to talk with him.

“You were absolutely wasted, and like, Niall wasn’t nearly sober enough to remember where we were, let alone where you all lived. Louis and I were also drunk, so that didn’t help. I think Jace and Liam helped get us all here, because it’s closer? I think? ‘M not sure, but I helped carry you with Liam and Niall helped carry Louis with Jace and all I can remember is the lot of us falling and shouting and I think Louis shattered a window?”

“Oh God” replies Harry.

Zayn just nods at that. “Yeah it was quite a show. I reckon people would film us if they saw us. Anyway, we finally got everyone’s drunk arses up here and Niall and Jace put Louis on the couch and I helped Liam set you in here. I was about to follow Liam out but you grabbed my arm and told me to stay. So I did,” he finishes with a shrug.

Harry gets up and rests his weight on his stomach and forearms, holding himself up. He gives Zayn an incredulous look, because what the hell?

“And you just did?” Harry asks, confused.

 

Zayn nods his head and turns to stare at the pile of clothes next to him. “You asked me to stay and honestly I was too drunk and tired to try to get a cab with Jace so I just stayed. Helped you get to the toilet before you blew chunks everywhere. You kept mumbling things about how being plastic seemed wonderful and how Barbie’s a bitch for cheating on Ken, or summat like that”

 

“Oh my fucking God” Harry groans, sliding his arms and falling back on the bed. He literally has never wanted to not exist so badly in his life.

 

Zayn clearly thinks he’s an idiot. He has to think he’s an idiot.

 

“I can promise you I’m not regularly this idiotic. I know how to contain my alcohol, usually. And I’ve never tried to out-drink Niall. Especially that. What the hell was I thinking?” He mumbles, trying and failing to keep his embarrassment contained until Zayn leaves and then he can let himself die.

 

“ ‘M not sure, you were pretty determined last night. I mean I just barely met the lad and

I knew not to try against Niall, but you were all for it.”

 

“Okay, I’m pretty idiotic. Thanks for the update” snaps Harry, the situation getting to him.

 

Zayn’s eyebrows raise in shock, and he blinks twice before tilting his head and staring at Harry.

 

“I was joking. Sorry if I offended,” replies Zayn calmly.

 

Harry sighs as he feels guilt claw at his heart, regretting the venom on his tongue.

 

“Look, I’m sorry for being tetchy. It’s just been a weird morning and I just feel like shit and if I’m being honest, you’re presence has kind of thrown me and it’s just all so odd.”

 

He takes a deep breath, letting the nerves in his stomach and neck settle and relax, a calm feeling trying to battle the hurricane happening in his body.

 

“However, thank you. Honestly. Thanks for helping me and not letting me drown in my vomit and, well, for staying.”

 

Zayn smiles at that, teeth brimming over his lips and Harry groans again.

 

“Smile’s too bright for my hangover right now” Harry says.

 

Harry looks away from Zayn’s face to his hands and it’s only then that he notices the redness of Zayn’s knuckles, where the joints appeared to be swollen and painful.

 

“What happened to your hand?” asks Harry, trying to remember anything about Zayn hurting himself last night.

 

Zayn’s smile drops as he looks down at his hands, rubbing a finger over the broken skin.

 

“Nothing.” He replies, looking up at Harry with a shielded gaze, not giving anything away.

 

“Did you get in a brawl with a car?” Harry jokes.

 

Zayn smiles and says “something like that” before shuffling around on the floor until he’s lying down too, on his back and his head toward Harry.

 

“What’re you doing?” asks Harry

 

“Going back to sleep. It’s bloody nine in the mornin’, and you’ve woken me up to put on a full on strop and I’ve not had my twelve hours of sleep.”

 

Harry smiles a bit at his sass. Sensing as how the topic of whatever happened to Zayn’s hand must be over, he allows the conversation to drop.

 

“Why are you sleeping on the floor?” replies Harry sleepily after a minute of silence, for good measure of course.

 

“I’d rather you not throw up on me, honestly” replies Zayn, smiling while keeping his eyes closed.

 

Harry snorts at that, but doesn’t push for Zayn to jump back on the bed.  A little distance

never hurt anybody, right?

 

Harry will have to wait to find out.

 

                                                                    +++

 

 

When Harry was twelve, he rode his bike straight into a tree. He and Gemma were outside riding around, playing and laughing and enjoying the summer’s warm day. Their street was more of a hill than a street, the houses built somewhat slanting up as the hill went down, and when Harry would ride his bike down the hill, the asphalt would turn his bike naturally; at the end, the road would curve to the right and it would lead to more houses on the other side. A somewhat, fucked up kind of cult de sac.

One day, Harry was riding his bike, no different than any other day, and he let go of the handle bars. He remembers that moment, feeling free and invincible at the knowledge that the bike would turn by itself, and he was able to just _be_. He felt the wind push back his hair and he felt the weight of the bike as it moved on the road and he just felt. Harry always smiles as he remembers that part because if anyone asked him, that was the first time Harry actually felt _alive_. Alive in the sense that he could feel everything, that he was living. Alive in the sense that he wasn’t just existing.

It was enough to prompt Harry not to take hold of his handlebars, letting routine take precedence over common sense, and he laughed.

When the bike didn’t turn, however, Harry stopped laughing.

Gemma always loves to tell the story. She always says she remembers him grabbing onto the handlebars but the bike kept moving, going directly in the path of the tree. She remembers yelling at him to turn, to change his direction. “I literally screamed so loud, mum and dad heard all the way back at the house” she would say, fussing up Harry’s curls. “I screamed and screamed and did everything I could but he just wouldn’t bloody turn the bike; it was like he was frozen.”

Harry remembers seeing the bike go straight, and he remembers when the wheels kept going, past the end of the road and onto the grass at the end of the hill. He remembers latching onto the handle bars, and if he’s honest, he did grab the break. Just a little.

But the thing is Harry wasn’t frozen. He was aware, he knew what was happening. He remembers the exact moment when he thought _what am I doing_? He remembers that little voice in his head yelling at him to grab the brakes harder; but the thing most distinct in the memory is the adrenaline, the curiosity he felt. The thought, of this awesome story to tell Jonathan and Will later while maybe showing off a scar or two, echoing around his growing anxiety, the two sides of his brain fighting to gain control.

He remembers letting the latter feeling go, making his vision turn sharp and his body still. His heart was thumping dramatically against his chest, dancing with the feeling.

What he didn’t expect was to collide full-on with the tree, hard enough that the tree cracked a bit, and to smash his head against the trunk, his body falling with the frame of the bike landing squarely between his legs.

Gemma had to carry him home.

He learned three things that day. 1) Don’t run into trees. 2) Adrenaline and curiosity are more powerful than common sense. And 3) Sometimes, there is only pain at the end of the road.

Talking to Zayn is much like riding his bike that day.

Ever since that morning, Zayn has been around. It’s not just Zayn though; Niall and

Jace rekindled their friendship that night over a pint and memories of home. Niall and Louis also took to each other amazingly, their equally insane passion of football bringing them together. Liam and Louis always argue, not horribly of course, about everything.

Like how loud the volume should be – “Up, Harold! I can’t hear shit.” “Louis, we have neighbors.” “Neighbors, smeighbors, I can’t hear the score” “That’s why you look at the screen. It tells you right there” “Someone get Liam a beer, he’s unbearable when he’s sober and sensible” “Prat” – or who gets the last spot on the couch – “I’m older and poorly, I deserve the couch more than you youngins” to which Liam will grumble and move because he’s a good lad; it’s a weird, fucked up way of bonding that only they get. Zayn has claimed his place in the group too, always the one to be there with water after they’ve taken too many shots and a calm hand to steady them home. The three of them have somehow become a concrete part of their lives, coming over all the time, always every Friday and Saturday to play Fifa or to watch a match or hit the pubs. Zayn is always there, sitting between Harry and Niall on the couch or on the counter with Louis, or sharing a loveseat with Liam. He’s always breathing out the air that Harry feels circle his lungs when he inhales it in.

So when all four of them start sitting together in class, Harry feels like he's let go of the handle bars. Sometimes it's Louis and Niall next to him, Zayn deciding to kip out of lecture for a week because why not; and sometimes it's Niall and Zayn, because it's Louis's turn to wake up at noon for once. Some days it’s all four of them, whispering the entire time about the game they’re going to watch that night or the plans for the weekend or some other nonsense, all of their words and gestures and presences colliding together to create a comfortable bubble of just them, until someone from the row in front of them shushes them and Niall threatens to throw a pen at them and Louis just speaks a little louder.

But in section, when it's just Harry and Zayn in the classroom, Harry feels like he did when the bike kept riding straight. He feels something different start to stir in him, something twisting and pushing at his heart and he knows he fancies Zayn. He knows there’s something, some deep, visceral _thing_ that ties itself around his heart as the time starts to pass.

He learns more than just literature and stories in that class; he learns about Zayn. That Zayn thrums his fingers throughout the entire class, keeping beat to a silent song he hears in his head, sometimes nodding along. He also learns that Zayn is smarter than anyone he's ever known, able to dissect novels and theories and motifs in ways Harry has to try to level with. He can talk about the effects of globalization in third world countries or capitalism found in _1984;_ he can talk for hours about the beauty of the mind and way worlds are hidden inside of us, thrumming and quaking and riding along our veins and nerves and between the synapses in our brains; and how all we have to do is listen to that one beat, that one thought and something beautiful can happen.

The thing he notices the most is how Zayn has a certain zeal for living life to the fullest.

He’s the one who takes care of the group, making sure they drink water or that they have enough to eat or anything else they lack. He’s always careful of everyone around him, but himself. He’s the one who pushes too far always, whether it be when they’re racing carts around the parking lot of Tesco at night, almost crashing into a wall because he was going too fast and wasn’t paying attention. Or even when they all go out to a bar and someone decides to try something with one of the guys, because suddenly Zayn’s there with a cue stick he’s threatening to smash over the guys head if he doesn’t walk away, not backing down even if the guy has a good seven inches on him.

If Harry didn’t know him better, he would think that Zayn has a will to die.

One time they all drive out to the shore for a day, walking along the sand and tide pools they find among the waves. And Zayn was the one who stood too close to the edge, who climbed too high on the rocks, who swam too far out on the sea. At the end of the trip, they were all walking and came upon a cliff that overlooked what seemed to be the entire ocean, beautiful as the sun reflected off the waves in bright lines of light. Liam had warned everyone about the cliff, igniting an “always the sensible one” from Louis who got dagger eyes from Liam, and they all looked for a minute before breaking away to keep walking. Harry started to walk before noticing an absent Zayn from their group, and when he turned around to search for said boy he found him standing close to the edge, facing the waters. His eyes were closed and his arms just barely spread out, almost like the wings of a bird before taking flight.

In that moment, Harry was scared, because Zayn looked like he _wanted_ to jump.

Before he could reach out, Zayn took a step back and opened his eyes, the look in them something that chilled Harry to the bone. Because he looked like he was ready to try to fly out over the waves, and while it was certainly a beautiful sight, it’s one that has haunted Harry at night, when he allows himself to wonder if Zayn would have jumped.

Harry’s learning about more things than Zayn’s reckless behavior though. There's one time after lecture when Harry and Zayn were walking to the bus stop, because they both share a hatred for biking - Harry swooned a bit- when they stumble upon a market happening in one of the school's bigger parking lots. They take a look at each other and decide why the hell not. They spend hours walking along the booths and tents, looking at the antiques and gadgets and all the different treasures from around the world, forgetting completely that they’re in a car lot at their university. When they get to a certain tent with a bright green and white fabric hanging behind the clerk’s seat, Harry looks and it takes a second before he recognizes that it’s a flag. Zayn, however, stops in the middle of a sentence and stares almost immediately.

Harry notices Zayn’s reaction and he feels the curiosity spark in his mind.

“Do you want to go inside?” asks Harry, studying Zayn’s face.

Zayn just walks inside without answering Harry’s question, and Harry follows wordlessly behind him. His eyes sweep over all the beautiful jewelry and books and clothes, fabrics and clothes made in beautiful colors and patterns. He reaches out to feel the softness and continues to walk, his hand coming to rest on a bracelet on a table. He stares at it, the letters spelling out something in a different language that he can't understand. He looks over to see Zayn holding a similar bracelet, also with writing on it and when the letters start to shake Harry notices it's not from his eyes straining to read but from

Zayn's hand shaking.

"You all right?" He asks, tentative.

Zayn nods but doesn't take his eyes away from the bracelet, running his thumb over the material of the band and the lines of the thread.

"I'm Pakistani from my dad's side" he says, without warning or pretext, continuing to look at the band.

"Oh really? That's cool." Harry says, realizing just now that this a tent for Pakistani goods.

The atmosphere feels strained, like Harry’s walking on thin wire, a massive drop underneath him where he’ll fall if he manages to tip his balance just for a second.

"Yeah. It is" says Zayn finally, and he walks to the owner of the tent and buys the bracelet.

Harry watches him, and when Zayn looks down to count his cash, Harry feels it.

The same feeling when the tire of his bike passed the asphalt and hit the grass, that moment of _what am I doing_. He knows he's not following routine anymore because he wants to know about this boy, wants to reach out and trace the memories left on his skin in the shape of scars. He wants to understand him and familiarize him, want to place him in a crevice of his chest, between his ribs, and keep him there.

When Zayn comes back, he doesn't mention anything else about the bracelet and Harry doesn't push. They walk and find things and look at ridiculously priced materials and they laugh, but Zayn’s not really there. He’ll listen to Harry and give a small smile, nodding his approval or sticking his tongue out in disagreement, but when he thinks Harry isn’t looking, he’ll stare at the bracelet on his wrist. Harry is so curious about it all that it makes him dizzy. Instead of asking though, he buys them a rice bowl that they share, sitting on a parking stump to people watch; and when they finish and start to walk away, Harry realizes he's heading down a path and he doesn't know the end of, like he’s heading for the tree all over again. He feels the adrenaline of it all, of wanting to know Zayn, of opening him up and digging inside, finding the worlds and streams within him that he talks about so much. He knows Zayn is made up of wonders and secrets, and Harry is willing to risk a crash to figure them all out.

 

 

+++

 

 

Harry walks to his favorite coffee shop on a Tuesday, hoping to pop in for a cuppa and a scone. Maybe a muffin; feels like a muffin kind of day.

He’s about to open the door when he looks ahead of him and sees Louis behind the counter, taking people’s orders and ringing them up while laughing and joking with them. Harry certainly has never noticed him here before, and he wonders if Louis has been here the entire time.

“Hey Lou” Harry says as he approaches the counter.

“Hey Harry, how are ya?” replies Louis, in all his customer-friendly charm.

“I’m well, although I might be a little out of it because I’ve never noticed you working here before.”

“That is because I just started yesterday” replies Louis as he moves to grab another sharpie to write on cups with.

“That explains that. Congrats, by the way. How do you like it?” asks Harry, moving a little closer to the counter to not have to speak so loudly.

“It’s brilliant, I’ll have you know. I take people’s orders and I get free drinks my entire shift. I think I’ve had 4 lattes today,” replies Louis, his eyes buzzing with caffeine induced adrenaline.

Harry laughs at him and shakes his head, saying “More of a tea person myself.”

“Which will it be then?” asks Louis, hand already grabbing a cup.

“Green tea please, with honey and milk,” replies Harry, reaching for his wallet.

When he looks up, Louis is looking at him like he’s lost his mind.

“What’s wrong?” replies Harry, keeping his hand on top of the wallet in his back pocket.

“You said you preferred tea, and that is _not_ proper tea” replies Louis, tossing the old cup and reaching for a teacup, punching things into the monitor in front of him.

“What are you doing? Are you changing my order?” replies Harry with a smile because it’s exactly the thing Louis would do.

“Just wait. You’ll love this, and it’s none of that milk rubbish you were saying earlier.”

“Oi, I like the way it tastes, thank you very much,” replies Harry with a scowl that he knows is nowhere near intimidating.

“Please, Harold, you’re holding up the line.”

Harry shakes his head and laughs, paying for whatever Louis wrote down for him, and five minutes later when Louis brings him his tea and he takes a sip, he holds in a pleased sound.

Louis is not one to be fooled, it seems, because he smirks at Harry and asks “Good?”

Harry feigns indifference, replying “It’s alright.”

Louis scoffs as he takes the seat across the table from Harry, leaning back and crossing his arms.

“Your eyes say otherwise. Rule number one, youngin. I am always right”

“A right bastard, I believe it is.”

“Bastard or not, the ‘right’ part stays the same.”

“Yes yes, Louis. You are the alpha and omega and everything in between.” Harry says with a roll of his eyes, a smile placed on his face.

“Now there’s a good lad,” replies Louis, teasingly.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working? Assaulting customers or cleaning the toilets?” asks Harry, which earns him a kick in the shin.

“It’s my break, actually. I thought I’d spend it with a mate, but there seems to not be one around,” Louis says as Harry squawks and rubs his leg.

Harry’s eye start to strain with the amount of rolling he’s done in the span of ten minutes. He chuckles, however, and they fall into a light chat about classes and their exams. Louis tells Harry how he tried cooking eggs the other morning and ended up starting a kitchen fire that almost burned down the entire building.

Harry’s laughing, his tea already gone and the cup and plate pushed to the side. He keeps laughing, even as Louis says “if it weren’t for Zayn, we’d all be homeless. That one is quicker than you think, he came out of nowhere and put the fire out. Almost beat me to a pulp too. We now have a new rule, I am not allowed near the appliances unless I’m making tea or warming up food in the microwave, which I can’t really argue against.”

Louis’ laughing too, but Harry feels a weight of his name in his gut.

“I for one, agree with that rule. You burned that burrito in our microwave that one time.”

“We were drunk.”

“It was on a Wednesday. We weren’t drinking.”

“Well then I was distracted. Probably from one of your dumb jokes.”

“Oi! They’re not dumb.”

“They’re horrible. The only one who seems to actually find them somewhat funny is Zayn, and he has a horrible sense of humor.”

Harry feels those goddamn butterflies again, sloshing around his tea filled stomach.

“He and I have a great sense of humor, thank you very much. I’m just about to go see him right now, actually. We have section together.”

“Don’t think he’ll be there, mate. Took a trip to go see his family in Bradford.” Louis says nonchalantly, head whipping back to look at the counter, probably getting ready for the end of his break.

“Bradford?” Harry asks.

Louis lifts an eyebrow and gives him an odd look.

“Yes, Bradford, where we’re both from. Remember? Why do you look so confused?”

Harry shakes his head, hoping to mesh together his jumbled thoughts that he always seems to have whenever Zayn is brought up or around.

“Last week he told me his dad is Pakistani, but I don’t know why I assumed that would mean they wouldn’t be in England. Must have slipped my mind, I guess.” Harry says with a small laugh at himself.

Louis, however, doesn’t laugh but continues to look at Harry with an even more confused look. He’s pulling for apathetic but Harry can see curiosity and surprise in his eyes and in the tight line of his mouth.

“He mentioned his dad to you?” asks Louis calmly, eyes scanning his face.

Harry doesn’t understand how the air between them became so tense, but it somehow has.

“Yeah” Harry responds, rubbing his neck with his hand. He feels squeamish under the scrutiny of Louis’s gaze. “We were in this tent at that farmer’s market they put on every Tuesday at the car lot by one of the bus stops. It was a tent from Pakistan, and he just mentioned it.”

Louis’s still looking at Harry, and Harry’s neck starts to feel raw and hot with how much he’s rubbed it with the awkwardness he’s feeling.

“Why are you being so weird?” he asks, removing his hand from his neck in order to play with the skin around his nails.

Louis blinks at him and then shakes his head, laughing a bit, though it doesn’t sound anywhere near happy.

“I’m sorry. I’m not trying to act odd, I’m just surprised. Zayn doesn’t talk about his family.” Louis says with a shrug, turning his gaze toward the counter again as a line begins to form.

“He doesn’t? Why?” asks Harry, searching Louis’s face for something, as if an answer is sketched along the lines of his skin instead of hidden in his head.

Louis looks back at him and smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and his eyes are cautious.

“Not mine to tell. I’ve got to go, mate. It’s about to be a madhouse in here, and it’s my turn to be trampled by the lunch crowd. See you later” he says as he stands, smiling at Harry and patting him once on the shoulder and taking his glass before turning and walking back to his post as cashier.

“Louis, wait.” He calls after him.

Louis stops in his step to turn, raising his eyebrows a Harry.

“Yes?”

Suddenly Harry feels shy to ask this, but it’s been bugging him since the beach and if he’s honest, he’s worried.

“Well, like, about Zayn,” he starts, looking up at Louis to gauge his reaction.

Louis doesn’t change his expression, still lifting his eyebrows.

“What about Zayn” he asks, walking over to sit again at Harry’s table.

Harry looks over to the counter where there are three people in line.

“It’s okay, I can take two more minutes,” he says in response to Harry’s gaze.

Harry nods and moves to fold his hands on the desk, his thumbs fiddling around each other.

“Well, like. Remember when we went to the beach, and we found that one cliff?” he asks.

Louis nods his head, signaling him to proceed.

Harry’s really nervous suddenly.

“Well, when everyone started to walk away I noticed Zayn wasn’t with us, and when I looked back I saw him standing on the cliff, looking like he was ready to jump. And I’ve noticed he’s always acted like he’s got this like, death wish, or something, and I was just wondering..”

Harry looks up to see Louis’s face, which is emotionless. It adds on to Harry’s nerves.

“He’s not, like, suicidal or something, right? Not necessarily suicidal, but just like... He’s not trying to hurt himself, is he?” he finally asks, praying he gets the answer he wants.

Louis’s searching his eyes, keeping quiet for a good thirty seconds which makes Harry go insane in his head.

He’s about to say something, like an apology, when suddenly Louis sighs and rakes his hands through his hair, pushing it off his face.

“I know what you mean. I’ve talked about it with him before. But no, I can assure you he’s not trying to hurt himself. He’s just had things happen to him that made him realize life is short, you know? And he just, what’s that saying, trying to take life to the fullest? He said, when we talked, that he just wants to make the most out of his days.”

“He’s twenty, though. Like, Liam is twenty and you’re twenty one and neither of you are trying to run yourselves into walls during races. What happened to him?” Harry asks, trying to understand.

Louis smiles at him, this time a sad smile, and reaches over to put his hand over Harry’s.

“It’s nice to see someone care about him like I do. But I can’t tell you that. Like I said before, not my story to tell. You’d have to ask him.” He says, eyes soft as they settle on Harry.

It makes Harry blush that his sentiment for Zayn is so obvious, because duh, but he looks at Louis for a minute before nodding his head, giving him a small smile back.

“I’m glad I’m not just making it up in my head, at least. And you’re sure he’s okay?” he asks as Louis squeezes his hand back once for comfort.

The question strikes something in Louis, though, because he stands up and takes the dirty dishes again, before looking back at Harry and says “Are any of us really okay?” before calling out a goodbye and finally walking back to his place behind the counter, keeping his eyes on the customers.

Harry watches him go, the sense of uneasiness sloshing along with the tea in his stomach. He has so many questions that he cannot begin to form into coherent sentences, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to get answers at this moment.

So Harry just grabs his backpack and curiosity and walks to class, doing his best at keeping the buzzing pushed to the back of his head with everything else. And just like Louis said, Zayn is not in class and Harry doesn’t see him in lecture for the rest of the week; he just sits beside Niall and Louis, listening to their conversations or playful bickering, attempting to participate while his head seems to be somewhere in Bradford, with the rest of his focus.

The whole conversation with Louis has left him feeling off. It certainly does not have to mean anything, and Harry could just be making it into something bigger than it actually is, but somehow Harry knows he’s not. It isn’t normal, and that should be enough to be wary, he tells himself.

He decides to leave it be, and the next week Zayn is back and happy and right back to his usual self.

 

+++

 

 

Sometimes when the lot of them go out to eat or drink or play billiards, they’ll go back to the flat afterwards and watch movies or drink some more but either way, Harry wakes up and the first thing he sees is Zayn, close to him or intertwined with him in some off, somewhat uncomfortable way. He’s not the only one to notice as Louis’s stare always seems to follow whenever Zayn and Harry are close, heating the air and making Harry feel a pang of confusion at his words from the café.

_Zayn doesn’t talk about his family._

And it’s true. Whenever stories come up about family times or that one time when said sister or brother did something, Zayn never speaks. He watches, and smiles and laughs, but he never, ever speaks. Harry watches him every time, Zayn even catching him every now and then; sometimes, _sometimes_ , he watches Harry right back. Their gazes seem to linger longer every time, and Harry always has to tear his eyes away - he’s always the first to - and mentally calm the storm in his head from trying to figure out what everything means. If he tries to dissect every little thing Zayn does, which he nearly does, he’ll drive himself mad, which he nearly has.

One day, when they’ve finished class and are just lounging about in the flat, which has come to be their routine, the conversation steers toward a play they read in class that past week,

“Oi, they’re really descriptive in this play. I feel like I know how to have gay sex now just from this one act, although I doubt it’s any different” says Niall, tossing the book on the table in the middle of the living room.

“It’s honestly not that hard of a concept, Niall. Pretty much what happens when you shag a girl,” replies Louis.

“I wouldn’t say it’s exactly the same” replies Jace, who is reading the play as they speak, eyes wide. “Like with Emily, I didn’t, what does it say here, wait-“

“Seems the same to me” says Zayn, who is blowing smoke O’s, from the spliff between his fingers, away from Harry who is sitting right next to him.

“So you’re saying I should know how to shag a bloke just because I’ve shagged girls?” asks Jace, who has stopped his reading to take the joint from Zayn.

“Do you really want me to get descriptive? Because I certainly can.”

“No, Louis. Keep your cock stories to yourself, you slag,” replies Liam, sitting on the floor in front of the couch.

Louis throws a pillow at Liam and Liam yelps in surprise as the pillow hits him square in the face.

“Not nice to call people names, Li” Louis says as he looks at his nails, a smile creeping in his voice.

Harry stays quiet through all of it, watching as Jace and Louis talk about the differences and similarities of straight and gay sex. What an odd bunch, they are.

“What about you, H?” asks Louis suddenly, lifting his eyes to settle on Harry.

Harry stills and blinks back at him, confused.

“What about me?” he asks, passing the joint back to Zayn without taking a hit.

“Do you think it’s any different than straight sex?” Louis asks, his eyes daring a glance in Zayn’s direction, who’s gone silent and still weirdly enough. The way Louis’ tone slightly shifts makes it seem as if he’s actually asking another question, and Harry doesn’t know what it is.

Niall seems to have picked up on it too, however, because he’s suddenly speaking. “Christ Lou, go ask the whole goddamn building while you’re at it” he interrupts, sending a glance at Harry and he knows Niall is being protective of him.

But, Harry thinks, these are his mates; he’s comfortable with them, even though a little voice in his head begs to differ at one particular presence in the room. Louis’s gay, so there’s really no reason for Harry to be so bashful about his sexuality. He just never thought about actually having to declare it, thinking he’d show up with a boyfriend and people would just nod and treat it all the same.

But apparently, it’s not going to be that way.

“It’s just an inquiry of opinions. I want majority vote,” replies Louis, shrugging indifference.

“Pretty sure his opinion won’t be much different from Jace’s if he’s never shagged a bloke, Lou” says Zayn, who take a hit but doesn’t look at Harry when Harry turns his head toward him.

“Well we don’t know if young Harold has never been down that road, now do we. And I’m curious,” says Louis, a weird spark of something in his eye as he and Zayn stare at each other.

Harry clears his throat, signaling he’s going to speak before Zayn or Niall can try to come to his defense again.

“Well, I mean you’d have to have like, had sex in order to have an opinion about it” replies Harry, aware of the tightness in his throat.

As if choreographed, Louis, Jace, and Zayn all turn to look at Harry at the same time which is probably the most intimidating thing Harry has ever had happened to him.

It’s silent for a second, and then-

“You’ve never fucked _anyone_?” asks Louis, eyes wide and mouth closing shut from where it dropped open.

Harry’s definitely blushing now.

“No. I’ve like done stuff, but I’ve not properly, like, done it… all?” Somehow his statement ends up a question but he has no idea who he is directing it to.

“But you’re nineteen years old” replies Jace, tilting his head a bit in perplexity.

Harry’s entire body must be pink by this point. “So? I just haven’t found someone that I actually want to have a go at with. ‘ts not a big deal,” he mumbles.

“You haven’t found _anyone_?” asks Louis, trying and failing to hide the color in his voice.

“No. I haven’t” Harry snaps, irritated. It’s seriously not that big of a deal. People everywhere wait longer, some till marriage, so he doesn’t understand Louis’s shock.

“Oi, easy champ. I didn’t mean anything offensive,” says Louis, raising his hands in what appears to be a way to appease Harry, which has very little effect.  “Just surprised is all, what with those curls and dimples, people should be throwing themselves at you from every angle.” He smiles at Harry, the compliment his way of apologizing and to soothe any wounds.

Harry looks at him for a moment and then sighs, letting his irritation settle back and fade away from his features. “It’s honestly not a big deal, though. Like I’ve had dates and such and like, one girlfriend in year eleven, but we never actually fucked and we broke up before the year ended, which as you would imagine would put a damper in any plans to get into her knickers.”

Niall snorts, rolling his eyes and strumming the guitar he must have grabbed from behind the couch. He looks at Harry as to say _Yeah, that’s why you didn’t get in her knickers_.

 

Harry shoots him back a look that says _Shut up_.

 

“Why’d you break up?” asks Louis, all too invested.

 

Interestingly enough, Zayn has remained quiet throughout it all but he’s actually stopped moving, still not looking at Harry but instead on Louis. Harry can’t see his face from this angle but he doesn’t know what he would find there if he looked.

“It’s a poor excuse,” starts Harry, “but I just didn’t fancy her like I thought I did. She was nice and pretty and smart, but I liked her as a friend more than I liked her as my girlfriend.”

“That’s shitty” replies Liam, now lying back on the floor and tossing the pillow Louis just threw at him repeatedly over his head. “You two still friends?”

Harry shrugs, bringing his knees up to chest and placing his chin on them.

“We were still civil, and like we talked briefly during the summer before I moved here. I wouldn’t say she hates me or anything.”

“I’m not friends with any of my exes. I think it’s weird, trying to be friends after a relationship,” says Jace, looking up at the ceiling as he exhales a cloud of smoke.

“Some people are meant to be friends, and some are meant to be more. It’s not meant to be too complicated” says Niall as he picks at the strings, the guitar playing a soft and mellow melody that seems to drift among the smoke in the room.

“I agree with Niall” says Liam, now also staring at the ceiling with his head on the pillow and his hands underneath his head.

“You always agree with Niall, the two of you always teaming up against me” replies Jace, frowning as Niall and Liam laugh, sending each other dopey smiles.

Just like that, the subject has changed and the spotlight has been taken off Harry, but Niall’s words dancing around in his head, traveling down to tie around his heart.

Zayn seems to have relaxed a bit, laughing along with whatever Niall and Louis are talking about, probably a song they heard. Harry closes his eyes and leans his head on Zayn’s shoulder, and after a moment he feels Zayn shift so that he can wrap an arm around Harry, pulling him closer. Zayn then leans his head on top of Harry’s, as he starts to talk about this one song he heard while on the tube the other day, Harry feels the vibrations of his voice rumble in his chest, like they’re trying to find a home in him, wrapped around his heart.

_Some people are meant to be friends_

He sighs and he feels Zayn pull him closer, squeezing his arm with gentle pressure.

_Some are meant to be more_

He’s never wanted more before, and he doesn’t know how to want it now, when their conversations start to drift as they all settle into their mutual highs, floating in and out on waves that carry them up into the stars, where Harry can see Zayn’s smile outlined, point after point, creating a vision of the emotions he feels everyday burn within him.

_More_.

Harry doesn’t think there will ever be enough. Not for his heart, because he’ll always want more of this, of these arms wrapped around him, of these moments where he swears he can see his feelings like a star in the sky, always there even if you can’t see it.

He’ll never stop wanting more, more than this.

He’ll always want more of Zayn.

 

 

+++

 

 

A couple days later, Zayn is sitting beside Harry on his bed around eleven at night.

They’re just listening to music, lying on the bed and casually drifting in and out of conversation, happy to let the silence linger. They’ve smoked a joint between the two of them, Harry almost coughing up his burning lungs from not smoking in such a long time, but Zayn got him some water and rubbed his back until the cough left and the ache was bearable.

Harry’s laptop lays between them, as it spiels song after song from one of Harry’s playlists, this one titled “Chilll Vibes”, which made Zayn snort and poke fun at Harry about how cliché he is until Harry smacked him over the head with his pillow.

The way they act literally shifted from one day to the next, going from 0 to 90 within seconds of greetings. Harry sends constant, weird text messages to Zayn about the most random things he knows like _Odontophobia is the fear of teeth_ or _The king of hearts is the only king without a mustache_ , things the other lads would usually tell him to bugger off from- except Niall, who always goes along with it with a “ _no way, mate! wicked ;)”_ -and sometimes Zayn replies yet sometimes Harry is met with an empty inbox that he doesn’t mind all too much. Zayn is always writing, being the English major that he is, and he’s always hiding away, sometimes gone for hours until he resurfaces and asks if Harry wants to grab a bite to eat.

They’ve created this routine, of always being together or of connection always being there, always open. Whatever the situation, they always seem to be shifting closer and closer, like two magnets pulling with a force so tight it literally moves other things out of the way, such as Niall or Louis.  Harry feels his feelings grow every time they share a plate of fries or watch another horrible, cheesy film together, like a seed constantly watered with emotions in his heart, but he doesn’t let it bloom into anything worth confronting. Zayn is his friend, that’s it. It’s not like Harry’s writing his name all over his notebook with hearts or anything. He’s got this under control.

But there’s this tangible strain between them, like an elastic band pulled tight against its own restraint. Sometimes, their fingers will touch and Harry looks up to find Zayn staring at his hand, but Harry writes it off as Zayn making sure Harry doesn’t drop whatever they’re passing because Zayn swears he’s the clumsiest giant to ever walk this earth.

But sometimes, in those deep, quiet moment, Harry feels the push of a current, pulling him toward Zayn and he can almost convince himself Zayn feels it too by the way they’ve come to always be touching, whether by an arm over the shoulders or feet on the lap or even arms brushing against each other.  He feels it, the pressure of his skin like a ship on his arm, and he’s not able to pay attention to much else because it’s Zayn, but his body has never reacted to someone this way before. They’ve known each other for only weeks and already Harry feels the weight of Zayn’s effect on him like a glacier, big on the surface but even more massive underneath the water.

All this runs through Harry’s mind as he lies with his head on a pillow and stares at the ceiling, Zayn’s breathes calming his blood and unconsciously making Harry match them with his own breathing. He looks over to say something but Zayn’s eyes are closed, facing the ceiling just like Harry was moments before.

His eyelashes arch perfectly, thick and long as the moonlight from outside flutters in from the window in front of Harry’s bed and licks them with white light, just like that first morning they woke up next to each other. And even though Zayn’s stayed over and slept in his bed some times since then, it never stops Harry from feeling a punch in the gut with the way Zayn looks when the light hits his skin.

His cheeks are covered in shadows that his eyelashes cast, and the pale light mixes with his skin to make his cheekbones and eyebrows and forehead all beautifully lit. It’s soft enough to not bother Zayn but strong enough to highlight his features, and in the shadow of his nose lies his pink lips, ones that make Harry want to nibble and lick and kiss until they’re bruised.

He’s definitely feeling the weed because he bravely reaches out and drags his finger so lightly over Zayn’s cheekbone. Zayn’s lips twitch at the contact, but he remains for the most part still. Harry continues to trace patterns on his skins, mapping out the mountains of his bones and the valleys of shadowed skin. He traces his jawline, feeling the stubble from tiny hairs growing back in because Zayn is a beautiful brown boy with beautiful thick hair that Harry wants to feel burn against his skin.

The song has changed to a mellowed out tune Harry can’t recall the name of at the moment, but it sings the words Harry can feel buzzing in his skin.

_Oh we’re not, no we’re not friends, nor have we ever been_

Harry’s can feel the pads of his fingers and the way they flitter with every inch of skin they touch, the bristle hairs on his jaw biting his skin and the impossibly soft skin of Zayn’s eyelids like silk against him. Harry misses the black glasses Zayn use to wear, the ones Zayn forgot one time at a bar they went to and didn’t care enough to go back to search for, because of the way they would shape his eyes. How silly a thing it is, to miss the way glasses made someone’s eyes look, Harry thinks.

_We just try to keep those secrets in a lie_

Harry’s a lot more baked than he thought. Some microscopic, not stoned part of his brain yells at him to be careful, but he’s not paying any attention to it, too caught up in the way everything has stilled as Harry touches Zayn. Zayn is surely just as high as Harry, if not worse, so there’s a good chance he’s enjoying this too if he hasn’t stopped him. That or he’s fallen asleep, but Harry knows he hasn’t with the way his breathing is much more controlled than it was a minute ago.

Harry’s hands still for a second, hovering over Zayn’s lips, trying to remember a reason why he shouldn’t. They’ve touched before, cuddled and what not, so this contact isn’t new. The intimacy, however, the closeness of this bleeding moment is something Harry has never felt before and it’s enough to push him forward, to let himself have this.

_Friends just sleep in another bed_

_Friends don’t treat me like you do_

His finger starts at the corner of Zayn’s mouth, finger barely applying pressure to the top lip before gently sweeping it over and back again. He follows the lines of Zayn’s cupid’s bow, and he traces the outer shape of his bottom lip. He wants to replace his finger with his lips, feeling the string between them tighten even more, urging him toward Zayn’s still form. The want to devour is so powerful Harry could bleed it if you were to cut him open, so he stops his finger and moves to pull back.

“So pretty” he murmurs, quietly enough that it’s possible Zayn doesn’t hear it.

Before he can slip his hand away, a hand circles his wrist and Harry looks up to see Zayn already watching him, pupils wide and imploring.

_We’re not friends, we could be anything_

Harry feels the ring around his wrist tighten as it pulls his hand down to soft lips again, this time Zayn’s mouth is opened. Harry stares, eyes focusing on the way Zayn’s breath is coming heavy out of his mouth and his tongue flicking out to wet his lips and in that moment Harry knows Zayn feels it too. He feels their own type of gravity pulling them together, like there’s too much space between them, and Harry imagines himself going to Zayn and licking his mouth open until their breathing and touches become the soundtrack of their night.

But Harry’s other side of the brain catches up and he realizes what he’s doing, how little distance there is between their bodies, so he lifts his hand with Zayn’s wrist still attached, and places it instead on Zayn’s chest, over his heart. Zayn’s eyes stare at him, full of questions Harry’s not ready to answer, but he knows Zayn feels it, he’s sure of it just like he’s sure of the butterflies in his stomach. He grabs ahold of Zayn’s shirt as he scoots closer, Zayn’s eyes watching his every move like a hawk, until he’s flush against the side of him, arms still on Zayn’s chest as Harry lays his ear on Zayn’s heart, listening to the way he affects him.

Zayn’s arm comes to circle around Harry, pulling him closer for a cuddle, not something different than what they normally do. But tonight, something has cracked between them, like a dam with too much pressure pushing against it until it bursts, opening streams of thoughts and inquiries to flow into Harry’s mind about Zayn and his eyes and his hand and just, well, just them.

But it’s midnight on a Tuesday night, and they’re high as kites and have classes tomorrow. So Harry allows his eyes to drift close against the storm in his head, and he allows his heart to beat against Zayn, echoing each other’s rhythm. He’s almost asleep when he feels a pressure against his head, what he comes to realizes are Zayn’s lips softly sighing the word “beautiful” into Harry’s curls, quieter than their breathing. He presses his lips against Harry’s head once more before nuzzling back into the cushion of Harry’s hair, mumbling a “goodnight Haz” that Harry hears echoing in his dreams.

 

 

+++

 

 

The morning birds are chirping outside the barely cracked open window, signaling the dawn of a new day and Harry has never been more tempted to throw a shoe in his entire life. He can feel the light touch his back as it leaks in between the blinds, and he moves to adjust his arm that’s lost its circulation when he feels an arm curl around his backside, soft skin against his arm and oh-

He and Zayn must have stripped themselves of their shirts at some point in the night because Harry can feel every inch of Zayn’s glorious bare chest pressed against his, deliciously warm skin that feels dangerously pleasurable. It makes Harry want snuggle closer, press his face against Zayn again in order to try to soak in what seems to be the heat of the sun radiating from his skin. Zayn makes a soft noise when Harry does press closer, just a smidge, and he shifts slightly, moving his legs against Harry and Harry stills at the movement.

That’s when he finally notices the hard-on he’s currently sporting in his shorts, the feel of Zayn’s leg shifting against him shooting pleasure all the way up to his eyeballs. Harry gathers every ounce of power within him in order to not rut his hips against Zayn’s thigh, but he feels the light pressure already like an electric wire, shooting sparks within him and making his muscles clench with the feeling. He knows he should move away at once but Zayn pulled him closer in his sleep and Harry can’t find the strength to tear himself away from Zayn at the moment.

Harry’s never hated a morning more in his life.

He lies there and tries to think about his gram’s dentures or the smell of rotten eggs, he even thinks about that one time when he was seven and this girl accidentally threw up on him on the playground, anything to rid himself of this horrible situation before Zayn can wake up and see for himself how Harry feels about him plain as day.

He moves to pull away when the movement causes the sheet that was on top of them to bunch up, causing what little sheet that was left covering Zayn to move out of the way, exposing a tent in Zayn’s shorts, and Harry feels his mouth go dry and his breathing change. Suddenly, mornings are now his favorite part of the day, as his eyes stay on Zayn’s crotch, the feeling of want beginning to pulse in his veins, going all the way down to his crotch where he feels his dick twitch. His body seems to have other plans than just staring, because he can’t stop the way his hips lurch forward by their own demand, briefly pushing against Zayn and Harry feels the sweat start to spread across his back. He bites back a moan, trying very hard to not make a sound that would disturb Zayn, trying to keep this moment for as long as he can, before the guilt surfaces.

That is of course the moment that Zayn wakes up, his eyes opening all at once instead of sleepily slow like they usually do, and he turns his head to look at Harry, arms still curled against him and his crotch tent fully exposed, the sweat on Harry’s back surely starting to wet the skin of his arm where he’s holding him.

There is no way he does not feel Harry’s fully hard prick against his leg, or that he doesn’t notice the way Harry’s breathing has gone shallow and heavy. Zayn doesn’t move, he just keeps looking at Harry and Harry feels every muscle in his body freeze, waiting for Zayn’s reaction, the thought of last night swimming in his heart but his head screaming at him to stay still.

Zayn must finally find what he was looking for in Harry’s eyes because suddenly he’s moving toward Harry, rolling him so that Harry lands on his back and Zayn is hovering over him, not touching him in the slightest but close enough for Harry to feel the presence of his body cover his skin, their clothed dicks an inch apart from each other and yet separated by so much space. Harry hasn’t moved, every muscle like ice as they stay locked in place, like one small flick of a wrist could break him. Even his breathing has stopped as he stares up at Zayn, the nerves eating away at his stomach.

But the echo of last night, of Zayn’s muttered “goodnight Haz”, of his lips in his hair and the look in his eyes when Harry traced his wet lips seems to push against the fear in his heart because his hand rises, reaching upward until it’s barely hovering over Zayn’s lips, just like the night before. He stares at Zayn the entire time, gauging his reaction with every twitch of his muscles, because they’re completely sober, fully aware of each other and their bodies and there is nothing to blame this on but themselves. And when Zayn’s eyes linger, Harry pushes the pads of his fingers against Zayn’s dry lips, sliding them against his skin until his palm is against Zayn’s cheek and his thumb is tracing beautifully pink lips.

Zayn’s eyes close at the contact, and Harry sees a tremor run through his arms from where they’re holding him above Harry, like gravity is pushing forcefully against him in an attempt to finally push them together.

In that moment, Harry decides to take the chance of a crash.

He slides his hand from Zayn’s face to his hair and tugs at the hair there, causing Zayn to open his eyes, widening at the surprise. He looks at Harry and Harry takes that chance as he runs his tongue over his lips and lifts his hips.

The contact is barely anything, but it is literally everything because Harry just made the move to rub them together, to speak his desires with his actions, the force of the want pooling in his stomach and overriding his senses, making his toes curl. Zayn sucks in a short breath at the contact, his hips twitching forward as if to follow after Harry’s as they fall against the bed again, Harry’s hand still in Zayn’s hair, their eyes still linked together.

“Harry” says Zayn, and his voice is quiet and deep and it makes Harry want to latch onto him and let Zayn fuck his throat until his voice matches the wrecked tone of Zayn’s at that moment.

He’s about to do something, like tug Zayn down into him, when suddenly all he feels is cold because Zayn’s not there anymore, but instead climbing off the bed and across the room, putting as much distance between the two of them as physically possible in the confinements of Harry’s room.

Harry stares after him, and when Zayn meets his gaze, Harry sees carnal want streaking across the brown of his eyes, a look so strong that Harry feels it run down his back and flex the muscles in his thighs. Because he knows his eyes must mirror Zayn’s, and there is no room left for imagination at exactly what that look means, of what it shows. Harry moves to follow Zayn across the room, almost getting on his knees to crawl when suddenly he hears it.

“No.”

It feels like a bucket of ice water being thrown all over him, like resurfacing from the water and taking a breath of air from this pool of emotions that they’re both drowning in.

It’s like a smack in the face.

His face must express all of this because Zayn’s jaw clenches, and he turns his head away, his dick still reaching out against the confining fabric as if beckoning to Harry, and Harry wants to go to him but that word keeps his muscles locked in place, like they’re stuck together.

“No, Harry” Zayn says again, this time to the wall, his jaw still clenching and unclenching. Harry sees his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows before he turns back to look at Harry again, this time something close to sadness mixing with the want in his eyes.

Harry feels the force of those words push himself backwards as his body curls away from Zayn and moves to sit by the pillow at the top of his bed, keeping his eyes on Zayn but also keeping his mouth shut. Because there’s no words in the English language that can reflect the earthquake he feels in his chest, the weight of two words breaking every foundation of hope within him.

When he doesn’t talk, Zayn closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath, before moving to grab his shirt and shoes from the floor, swiping his keys, glasses, and wallet from Harry’s desk, and moving to reach for the door. Harry feels every move of Zayn like a tremor in his bones, watching as everything begins to crumble around them and knowing he’s staring at the debris of their friendship. Because this isn’t a story that he hears from friends or reads in books and it’s not a movie he watches on big screens, of beautiful people in difficult places with emotions painted on their faces, acting out the pain of their character. It’s Harry and Zayn, Zayn and Harry, but suddenly it feels like the bridge that was once connecting them now has been torn apart and all that’s left is a valley of disappointment and ache.

Zayn stops right before he turns the knob, taking a deep breath before turning his neck to look at Harry with eyes that tell of the storm in his head, of the conflict Harry can feel in his heart. Harry can only guess what it is, but he doesn’t talk or move as everything is still locked together, keeping him from moving forward and doing something he can’t take back.

Zayn lets go of the door handle and actually turns his whole body to face Harry,  something in his expression changing, taking force within him. He takes a step toward the bed, a step toward Harry, and Harry feels his heart jump to his ears and his hands shake with the anticipation. Zayn is about to reach the bed when suddenly the door swings open and a thick, Irish voice booms along the walls of the room.

“GOODMORNIN BITCHES.”

A very happy looking Niall walks in, wearing shorts and an apron with colorful cupcakes print, hands full of a pan and spatula where he’s apparently making eggs.

“Hiya lads. Anyone hungry? I made eggs and bacon” he says, looking between them with intensity of the sun brightening his face. The smile on his face, however, starts to slip when neither of them talk, the silence filling up the spaces between them.

And just like that, Zayn’s eyes glaze over with apathy, his shoulder straightening and his head rising, standing in more confident footing. He turns to face Niall, shirtless but in Harry’s basketball shorts that he claimed as his own that first night he stayed over, when he unknowingly claimed Harry at the same time. With a smile that doesn’t seem right, his arms still at his sides, he says “I don’t eat bacon, mate.” before patting him once on the shoulder, turning and walking out the door, the echo of the front door slamming reaching Harry like the loudest statement he’s ever heard. The shock lingers in him, especially since Niall is sporting a confused look on his face, his body turning to look at Harry with a raised eyebrow.

“What did I miss?” he asks, the pan in his hand and the apron on his chest making him look ridiculous and it’s enough to make Harry shake out of his shock, just a little, also shaking his head in an attempt to try to rattle dark thoughts away from his conscious, where he’s sure they’d show in his eyes.

“He had to go” is all Harry says, keeping his face neutral, but he feels the ice begin to fill his chest.

Niall’s looking at him with a wary, soft expression, because no one knows Harry better than Niall, not even himself.

“Harry, what’s going on?” he asks, standing in all his concerned mother hen glory.

But Harry can’t talk about this, so he forces a smile onto his lips and musters enough strength to speak this lie.

“Nothing. He’s always weird in the mornings. He had a class to go to, and he was running late is all.” He says, managing to not flinch when his voice breaks in the middle.

Because Niall knows him best, he also knows when not to push the subject. So he just nods his head and licks his lips, eyes flickering around Harry, his shoulders still pulled together in a tight line probably from the thick cloud of emotions hovering in Harry’s room.

“Okay. Well breakfast is on the table when you want it,” he replies, keeping his eyes softly on Harry.

Harry simply nods at him, smiles, and says “thanks, mate,” hoping it’s enough to end this.

Niall stares at him for a second longer before blinking once and nodding again, turning and walking out of Harry’s room, closing the door behind him.

And that’s when Harry finally lets his shoulders fall and his heart clench, because Zayn took any sense of collectedness with him out the door when he left Harry alone on the bed, and Harry feels it like a tear in his heart, two sides pulling at him and ripping him in uneven parts.

He wanted Zayn, and Zayn left.

That was answer enough.

So when Harry doesn’t see Zayn for the rest of the week, he feels it in his core, and when Zayn doesn’t text him back after he asks if everything is okay, Harry knows it in his heart.

For the first time in a long time, Harry understands. He knew it the moment he opened his eyes that morning, when the birds sang a song of love unknown.

Harry saw the tree coming, but he didn’t expect the crash.

 

 

+++

 

 

It’s a Sunday night when everything blurs all at once.

Harry is sitting at his desk in his room, going over terms and historical themes and names and dates until he’s sure his brain is bleeding when he hears what sounds like a heavy knock on his door.

He starts, waiting to see if they try again and when the sound comes, he breathes out a resigned sigh and gets up to answer the door. He’s alone in the apartment save for a passed out Niall on the couch, mouth open a bit with drool pooling from his mouth onto the pillow he brought from his room.

He goes to open the door, a little irritated at being disrupted from his studying when he hears something crash onto the floor followed by a string of muttered curses coming from the other side of the door; which all in all makes Harry a bit skeptical about whatever it is on the opposite side being a good surprise. He waits for something, the silence heavy until he hears a

“Arrrreh. Arrrreh open the doooor.” And oh shit.

Zayn is here, and he sounds very not sober.

He looks back once to check on Niall, but the thing about Niall is that he can sleep through anything, literally. The fucking end of the world could be happening and he’d be snoring his way through it, content in his sleep. It’s equal parts annoying and amazing all at once.

Harry’s attention is brought back again to the door when he hears a grunt. He suspects the worst, and when he opens the door Harry is met with a drunkenly fallen Zayn, sprawled across the hallway floor and making no effort to get up. When he sees Harry, Zayn smiles an empty, cold smile. Harry knows this smile, this look of ice that he’s seen Zayn throw at other people, but he’s never been on the receiving end and it makes him shiver.

“Zayn, why are you on the floor?” Harry says as he huffs out a strained laugh. Zayn blinks at his words and seems to finally have realized he is, in fact, on the floor, and then tries to gather himself enough to sit up.

“The,the… the air hit me. And I- I fell,” Zayn answers grumpily, seeming annoyed that Harry is asking questions instead of helping him up.

Harry just continues to smile against the jumbled feelings pounding in his stomach. Nerves? Butterflies? Elephants? He’s not sure at this point.

“Ahh, the air was it?”

Zayn frowns at him.

“The air is cruel and wants to see me fail” Zayn mutters, again trying to push himself back enough to where he can gain enough leverage to use the wall as support.

Harry crosses his arms and leans his side against the doorframe, watching with bemusement. He’s never seen Zayn this pissed before.

“How much have you had to drink tonight, tiger?” he asks, still watching Zayn struggle.

Zayn’s eyebrows scrunch together as he, Harry assumes, tries to remember how much alcohol he retained that evening.

“Uh… about, erhm, twelve shots? I, like, don’t remember? Louis. Louis was there. With- with a DJ. A midget in a clown costume poured vodka into my mouth. Or was it rum? It might have been rum.” Zayn tells, a hiccup finding its way out of his throat and surprising him when it exits his mouth.

The great thing about Zayn is that he usually has a high tolerance and can chug five beers without eating and still be sober minded. But tonight, there’s something different about him, and it makes Harry nervous.

He looks at Harry alarmed at the hiccups and Harry knows he’s not getting him home tonight; he also knows he won’t be studying anymore either.

“Well then princess, let’s get you out of the hallway.”

Harry moves to help Zayn up, a “fucking finally” coming from Zayn’s mouth. He reaches for Zayn, putting his hands around him in order to give him balance; it’s the first time they’ve touched since that morning and Harry feels the suddenness of it burn his skin. Picking Zayn up proves to be a feat in itself as Zayn seems to have the coordination of a newly born foal, all gangly arms and twisted sense of gravity. Or as Zayn puts it, “the fucking air trying to make me fail.”

Harry navigates Zayn as quietly as he can toward his bedroom, walking around Niall who is still in his dead-to-the-world, snore-filled slumber. Zayn doesn’t seem to notice Niall or a table or shoes – or even walls, for that matter- and manages to run into every single thing in the path from the front door to Harry’s room. Niall, Harry gratefully sees, stays deep in sleep through it all.

When he finally get inside Harry’s room, Zayn appears to give up hope for walking for he gracelessly tumbles directly to the floor and starts to wiggle/crawl his way around Harry’s cluttered room. When Harry tries to help him up again, Zayn snaps at him.

“I can fucking doing it” he says through gritted teeth, moving away from Harry’s reach and more toward the bed.

Harry pauses and moves back, a little annoyed at Zayn’s attitude.

Finding his strength and coordination, Zayn lifts himself onto the edge of the bed to sit and probably rest. He sighs, swaying a bit as the alcohol probably has him dizzy.

“Zayn, why are you here?” Harry says, sighing to himself at the thought of everything he still needed to study and Zayn’s surprise ambush and Zayn’s coming to him _drunk_ on a Sunday night and just _Zayn._

Zayn doesn’t look up, too deep in his alcohol induced trance to register Harry’s question.

So long night it is then.

“Zayn, do you want some water?” Harry tries instead.

Again, he is met with silence.

With his annoyance growing, Harry decides to walk to the kitchen anyway, making his way silently through the apartment to open the fridge and get an ice cold water bottle he knows Zayn will want tonight or need tomorrow. He takes a minute to breathe, placing his forehead against the cool door of the refrigerator. Last time he saw Zayn, things were left so unsteady, so unbalanced. He didn’t know if he would hear from him again, if maybe whatever they had was honestly over and Zayn was done with him. But now here Zayn is, extremely drunk and also extremely irritated and Harry has no idea _why_.

He knows he can stand against the fridge all night and avoid this, but he’s not really in the mood for Zayn’s games anymore.

He quietly walks back to his room, the ever present snoring of Niall like music to Harry’s ears tonight.

When he comes back into the room, Zayn is perched over with his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands, covering his face.

“I brought you some water.”

Of fucking course.

Harry moves toward Zayn, nudging him with hope that it’ll be enough to make the boy look up. When Zayn doesn’t react from Harry’s touch, though, he feels his patience dissolve like sugar in water.

“Zayn”

“Zayn.” He says, hoping his stressed tone would stir the boy before him.

On a good day, Harry hates drunk people. He doesn’t have the patience for them if he isn’t drunk either. But today is not a good day and he’s stressed and he has midterms this week and there’s a beautiful drunk boy on his bed who _won’t fucking answer him_.

Harry decides to drop the hospitality route.

He, instead, gets on his knees in front of Zayn, wraps his fingers around Zayn’s wrists, and pulls not so gently, seeking Zayn’s eyes.

Zayn lets his arms fall willingly, no fight in him and when Harry looks in his eyes, he sees something that chills him from the blood in his veins to the marrow of his bones.

Zayn is breathing heavily, and his eyes are glazed over in that common intoxicated sense. But he’s starring ahead of him in a way that scares Harry because he’s not really blinking, and he looks like he’s lost somewhere horrible. His eyes are looking at something that’s not there, and all in all, he looks broken.

Like a broken man trapped in a burning frame.

Harry sees it all but he doesn’t know what to do. Zayn’s always been the tough one, the silly one, the one who can be quiet but still take up a whole room. He’s always so _aware_. But right now, he looks completely and utterly lost and Harry’s scared because Zayn has never looked so fragile before this moment.

Harry can’t stand to just look at him, so he scoots closer on his knees until he’s between the V of Zayn’s legs, and he cups Zayn’s face with gentle hands, turns his head to look at him.

“Zayn.” Harry says, quietly but with force, hoping for something. Anything.

Again there’s nothing.

Harry doesn’t know what to do. He really doesn’t know what’s going on or what’s happening or why Zayn came to him but then-

Zayn came. To Harry. When he was completely void of senses and logic, when he was probably too drunk to remember his own address, he remembered Harry’s. And the realization makes Harry swallow around his fear. He starts to feel the tingle in his legs from kneeling so long but he can’t bring himself to move from the boy in front of him.

Because it is just him and Zayn in this room, it’s only their shared breathing filling the spaces between them, only their heartbeats enveloping them here and now.

His heart breaks to think of what could have happened to make Zayn so shattered, rid of his shell and vulnerable to the world. Harry closes his eyes, thinking of everything that has happened between them but feeling the weight of this thing, this powerful and consuming _thing_ between them slowly shrink the room until it’s just them in their bubble.

He leans forward until their foreheads are touching, and he says Zayn’s name in a breath, hoping for this boy to come back to him; to not be so far away from Harry’s reach.

When Zayn still doesn’t move, Harry loses all but one hope.

So he kisses him.

Kissing a boy is so new to Harry because he’s had fuck to none experience with it, but it’s one of the things he was the most nervous about, because there’s no going back from this. Once you kiss a boy, you’ve kissed a boy, a thought which used to terrify him late at night when he thought about the truth of who he was. But now, as his lips slide against Zayn’s, he finds himself sighing into the kiss. It’s not just a sigh of pleasure, but a sigh of relief. Of feeling that for once, for once, something in his life made sense. That these unknown pieces inside of him that use to fill him with dread now click together and that it doesn’t feel off touching another boy. For once, he feels like it all made sense in that moment to be with Zayn, and to just drink him in. His brain shuts off, all the voices in his head finally going silent, and for the first time in a long time, Harry simply is.

It is just Harry and Zayn, and it feels like somehow that’s how it was always meant to be.

He’s so caught up in the feeling that when Zayn starts to kiss him back, he’s surprised at the movement. Zayn kisses like he chews, mouthful of tongue and lips. But there’s a softness to it, a gentleness Harry didn’t think he had. He licks along Harry’s lower lip, and Harry takes the hint and opens his mouth to Zayn, who flicks his tongue inside, seeking and tasting.

Zayn’s hand comes to wrap around the back of Harry’s neck, pulling him closer still, even when there is no room, no air between them. They are pressed tightly against each other, and they kiss like they have all the time in the world, tasting each other and discovering little sparks of heat wherever their lips and tongues move. When Zayn breaks the kiss to whisper Harry’s name, Harry forgets about everything else.

That is, until he feels warm moisture on his face. He pulls back and opens his eyes, coming face to face with tear stained, bronzed color eyes staring back at him. Zayn is crying, and when he closes his eyes, more tears quietly fall down his face.

When he recovers enough, Harry moves to stand and pull Zayn up but Zayn’s hand flies through the air with fierce speed, latching onto Harry’s biceps and refusing him from moving an inch. His grip is tight, but not hurting. Harry moves his arm slowly, careful not to scare Zayn, and his hand comes to lay on Zayn’s face, tenderly cradling his cheek. Zayn’s eyes flutter at the sweet contact, slowly moving his head to nuzzle against Harry’s palm. His slight beard causes Harry’s palm to prickle, and Harry loves all of it.

“Zayn?” he tries, hoping that Zayn will finally talk.

At the sound of Harry’s voice, Zayn’s eyes open and another tear falls, hitting Harry’s hand. He opens his mouth as if to say something, but heavy breathing is all that comes out.

He has never been this sweet, this open before and Harry can hardly move, nonetheless breathe, with the feeling of it.

“It’s been eight years, and I still get drunk every year.” Zayn says, eyes flickering across Harry’s face. Harry stops breathing, his hands momentarily grabbing Zayn’s face with a little more pressure before relaxing again.

“What do you mean?” Harry replies softly, hoping he’s not pushing Zayn.

Zayn sniffles a little but doesn’t let Harry go, opting to run his hands down Harry’s arm.

“I was twelve, you know. A kid- a kid that knew shit about life.” Zayn chuckles a dry laugh, sounding like it was painful.

“I was only twelve. I didn’t know anything, Haz. I didn’t know they were going to die that night.”

Harry hopes with all his might that Zayn doesn’t hear his sharp intake of breath, that he doesn’t feel the way Harry goes stiff or his breathing become irregular.

Zayn goes on, either not noticing Harry’s changes or ignoring them in turn for telling the story.

“My grandparents were living with us at the time, and my dad…“ Zayn sadly chuckles.

“Dad was always so strict. _Don’t play in the mud. Your mother needs your help at home. Be careful with the football. Pray every night.”_ He says in what must be an imitation of his dad. “He was always, like, telling me, ya know, what to do and how to be better and shit. And mum would just, like, watch. And later come to my room and run her hands through my hair and tell me ‘ _He’s hard on you because he loves you_ ’. But no twelve year old understands that shit. Like, I just remember being mad that I couldn’t go to games with Danny, that I had to stay home and help Mum with chores and pray and read.”

Harry feels sick to his stomach because he knows where this is going, the memories of Zayn talking about his family starting to link together.

“I had just got back from playing with my mates, and I had fallen. I fucking fell into the, the damn mud in my brand new trousers Mum had just bought. They were khaki and all, all posh like, and I had been too careless. I fell and I already was pissing myself because I knew I was going to get an earful when I got home.”

Zayn takes a breath, and his hands are shaking. Harry gets the feeling this is the first time he’s actually talked this much about it and that breaks his heart more, that he’s has been keeping this in him all this time. Zayn starts to rub his hands up and down Harry’s arms and shoulders, like the touch is keeping him from getting too lost in his thoughts.

“I came home in my wrecked trousers. I tried to go straight to my room, but my dad was in the living room and he saw.”

Zayn’s voice changes, picking up more emotion. He clears his throat to try to get rid of it, but the feeling stays laced throughout his words, caught in his throat. He keeps his head downcast, not meeting Harry’s eyes.

“He was so mad at me. Like, proper mad.  He yelled at me about… about disobeying him. And ruining the nice trousers my mum had saved up to buy for the school picture. He wouldn’t listen,” he huffs out a painful sound, “He wouldn’t listen when I told him it was an accident, and he just kept yelling. My mum came in when she heard me crying, and she tried to get my dad to stop yelling. He kept saying that he expected more from me. Over stupid fucking trousers. They were fucking trousers, for Christ’s sake, and he was acting like I had killed someone.”

Harry’s hand is harboring full-on puddles by this point, and his knees ache painfully but nothing compares to the feeling in his chest.

“He told me I couldn’t go outside…or play my video games. And God, I was so mad. I was so angry at him for always telling me what to do, for not listening to me or how I felt, and I felt it bubble up in my throat… but I couldn’t stop the words from coming out.”

Zayn’s voice hitches, and his entire body starts to shake, like all the emotions and pain are breaking him from the inside as they try to find their way out.

“I told him I hated him,” he whispers, a sob hovering on his lips.

“I told him I hated him and I wished I had another dad.”

When Harry doesn’t say anything, Zayn clears his throat and keeps talking.

“They were both so stunned they didn’t stop me from running up to my room. Even though I wasn’t excused. I was afraid that he was going to, like, come after me, but I was still angry. When my mum came to my room some time later, I didn’t let her run her hands through my hair. Because I was angry at her too, for always taking his side.”

Zayn is fully crying now, Harry watching him in shocked fear.

“She looked at me, Haz, and her eyes were so sad. She told me the same thing as always. ‘ _He’s hard on you because he loves you, Zayn. We both do_ ’… And I laughed. I laughed in her face because I was such a fucking brat and I was so angry. I didn’t want to believe her. I laughed like the piece of shit that I am. And when she told me she loved me, I said it back but I didn’t kiss her goodbye, like I usually did. I hugged her, but I didn’t kiss her. And that guts me, Harry. It kills me that I didn’t get to kiss my mother goodbye for the last time.”

Harry feels tears on his own cheeks, his stomach filled with wave after of wave of anxiety and nausea and just _pain_. Zayn is shaking so hard underneath Harry’s hand Harry’s scared he’s going to split in two. So much pain in one room, and it’s radiating all around them, bouncing all the walls and rolling under the bed. It’s consuming them, and Harry’s powerless to stop it.

“My dad came to my room after to tell me he and my mum were going to go get my new trousers. He asked if I wanted to come. I said no, like the brat I was. I thought I could hurt him more after all the anger he made me feel.”

He looks at Harry now, meeting mossy green with vivid brown. He drops his voice, as if whispering will keep the storm at bay inside him.

“The last memory I have of my dad is him telling me he loved me, and me not saying it back. I just nodded and he came and kissed my head and closed the door behind him. And then that night a truck slammed into their car and my parents died in the hospital. While me and my sisters were in the waiting room with my grandparents.”

Zayn starts to sob now, full on slobber and tears and mucus everywhere. His grip on Harry tightens until Harry’s sure there will be bruises in the morning.

“They’re dead, and it’s all my fault. Because I ruined my fucking trousers. Because I was a horrible son, because I told my dad I hated him.” And his words become watery as he leans forward, his sobs shaking the bed as he lets go of Harry in order to hold himself.

Harry gets up, his legs aching as they unbend, and he sits beside Zayn and wraps him long arms around Zayn’s shivering frame.

“I was so bad to them. They deserved better than me. I miss my mum. I miss my dad, Harry. I miss them so much. I just want to hug my parents, that’s all I want but I can’t because it’s my all fault and now they’re dead.” And he keeps crying as Harry holds him and cries too, kissing his hair and his forehead, trying to hold this boy together with all his might, but knowing it’s not enough.

And his heart breaks for the third time that night.

Zayn keeps muttering “it’s all my fault” with a wrecked voice into Harry’s neck, the wetness from his tears and mouth and nose covering the stretch of skin under Harry’s jaw. Zayn cries and Harry doesn’t let go. Not when he stops crying and goes still, and not when he starts sobbing again five minutes later. Harry knows he will never let Zayn go, not after tonight. Not ever.

He holds his boy in his arms and closes his eyes against the pain and darkness tugging at his insides but not tonight. He needs to hold Zayn tonight.

“My sisters don’t have parents and it’s all my fault” he whispers, and that slices Harry’s heart clean in two because that guilt, that pain, is something he can’t begin to imagine.

He holds Zayn, not saying anything because he knows he can’t take it away, he can’t shield Zayn from this, no matter how much space he makes in his chest for this boy. But he prays that if he holds Zayn tight enough, it’ll be enough to piece him back together.

Once Zayn’s all cried out, Harry helps him to his feet and gently strips him of his clothes until he’s only in a pair of black briefs that cling to him. He’s too drained from the night to be caught up in lust, so he helps Zayn drink some water and puts him in his bed. Zayn starts to whimper when Harry pulls away, but he assures him he’s not going anywhere, kissing his forehead and pulling back to change. Zayn’s eyes fill with fear and they don’t leave him so Harry strips right there so Zayn can see he’s not going anywhere. He goes to bed without brushing his teeth, knowing he’ll regret it in the morning but knowing he’ll regret leaving Zayn more. As soon as he gets in bed, a pair of hands are reaching for him, and Harry allows himself to be pulled until a nose is pressed against the juncture of his neck and shoulder, arms encasing him to another body. Zayn knocks their legs together, and he doesn’t let Harry go.

Harry starts to run his hand up and down Zayn’s back, hoping to console him with his touches. He knows Zayn is too drained right now, no matter how sobering that story was, in order to talk about this properly. He knows Zayn just needed to talk, to have Harry listen. They’ll talk about this later, when they’re both level headed.

For now, they hold each other in the dark, grateful for the black of the night that swallows them. They can only sense and see each other, using gentle touches as anchors against the demons in the dark breathing with them. Harry holds Zayn, and once he feels Zayn’s breaths even out and feels the heaviness of his form sleep deeply, he finally allows himself to fall apart.

He cries silently for the boy he knows is damaged, for the boy he loves.

“It’s not your fault,” he whispers against quiet sobs.

But Zayn can’t hear him.

Harry falls asleep with over a hundred pounds pressing on his chest, but nothing could equal the heaviness he feels in his heart.

 

 

~~

 

The next morning, Harry wakes up to a cold and empty bed, the warmth on the sheets like a ghost of a memory. He takes one look at the empty space next to him, and he knows Zayn let go.  

+++

Harry use to always be able to tell himself that if he ignored something long enough, that it’ll go away on its own. Thoughts, feelings, memories. If he just distracted himself enough to the point of exhaustion, he’d be okay in the end.

He was wrong. And finally, one day, Harry breaks.

He finds himself sitting in class with Louis and Niall, staring at the slides with all the information for his paper he needs to write, and realizing he can’t read a word on the screen because his mind is racing. This is the third lecture Zayn has missed since the night they kissed, who knows which lecture he’s missed since things between him and Harry started going on a different route. Every damn time he asks about him, however, Louis gives Harry an excuse of “he was working late last night” or “he’s ill”, and every time Harry doesn’t press the subject because they both know it’s a lie Louis has to tell.

Zayn’s avoiding him. Avoiding the kiss, them, whatever the hell it all means and Harry has never felt more worthless because of it. He’s trying to pass through his days pretending that everything is okay, that it doesn’t mean anything that Zayn hasn’t returned any of the plethora of texts, emails, or calls Harry’s had to dial with a heart so heavy it’s flooding the rest of his body with sadness.

But Harry is sick and tired of lies and pretending and fucking politeness, and he feels the anger boiling inside him until he can physically no longer contain it.

So he lets it run wild.

He stuffs his tablet in his backpack, ignoring the questions Niall throws at him about what he’s doing and definitely ignoring the knowing looks Louis gives him because honestly, fuck it. Fuck it all. Harry’s done with façades.

He walks out of the lecture hall with anger fueling every stride of his legs, his irritation overriding the logic in his brain trying to calm him down and think about what he’s doing. He’s bloody tired of thinking, is the problem. He’s tired of trying to understand and think and he’s so goddamn mad he can feel it boil his blood.

Each step he takes is very purposeful, not relaxing in pace the entire fifteen minutes on the bus it takes to get to Zayn’s building; he pushes open the entrance door with a little more force than necessary and startles a woman inside checking her mail. He apologizes quickly, but continues his march up the two flights of stairs, to the right and around the corner, until he comes to his destination. He hits three quick, loud knocks on the door, knowing Zayn is inside and either sleeping or watching telly which makes Harry bite his tongue to keep from yelling. And when the door finally opens to reveal Zayn in sweats and a pullover, looking disheveled and lovely, Harry feels that traitorous kick in his heart from finally seeing Zayn in person, taking him in after being avoided for a week and he feels the want and fondness form in the back of his throat until something in him snaps.

Zayn’s looking at him like he’s a nightmare, eyes wide and something similar to fear streaking through them.

“What are you doing here?” is the first thing Zayn asks.

Harry still has anger pulsing with his blood and it’s enough to shove Zayn out of the way as he walks straight past him and into the other boy’s room.

“I asked you what you’re doing here” Zayn says, following after Harry.

Harry throws his bag on the chair by Zayn’s desk and turns to fully take in Zayn. He looks tired, purple bruises under his eyes and a slump in his stance. His hair is undone, falling softly over his eyes and giving him an air of gentleness and beauty, which is the exact opposite of what Harry feels right now.

“Why have you been missing class?” he asks, keeping his eyes on Zayn and crossing his arms because he’s not sure whether he wants to hug him or punch him.

Zayn’s eyes move to the right of Harry and then back to his eyes again, and Harry knows he’s flustered Zayn with showing up at his place out of nowhere but he doesn’t give a damn.

“I’ve been ill,” Zayn finally replies after a pregnant pause, nonchalantly.

It pisses Harry off.

"With what?” he questions, lifting an eyebrow like a challenge.

“A cold. Something’s been going around, you know. Probably caught it at work or summat” he says, words barely faltering around the lie.

Harry stares at him, his heart hammering against the bones of his chest, but his face like stone.

“A cold” he deadpans, not coming out as a question.

Zayn nods his head and shrugs, feigning indifference.

“Can’t control diseases, mate” he says, and Harry feels the _mate_ cut straight through his sternum and slice at his heart.

You see, Harry had hoped. He had a little voice in between all the chaos of his jumbled thoughts, underneath the rage and pass the hurt; he heard the little voice of hope that said Zayn wasn’t like this, that he wasn’t avoiding Harry but he just needed time. But he feels that little voice crush underneath the weight of reality as Zayn stands before him and tries to look at him like everything between them is casual, when actually the foundation of whatever this is between them is slowly crumbling away.

“You know, I thought you were better than this.” Harry says, knowing full and well how loaded his words are.

Zayn’s eyes flash with something, taking the bait as he responds in a tight voice.

“What?”

Harry could laugh at the situation, and very nearly does if he could find any humor in him.

“I thought you were better than all this pretending bullshit you throw at people, acting like you don’t care or that you’re happy. I figured you do it because you have deep shit you don’t want to talk about, and I know that you do” Zayn looks away from him, “We all do, I have those secrets too. But last week you came to _my_ flat and sought me out, you came to me. I’ve been giving you space that you always seem to need, but you came to me, Zayn.”

Zayn continues to stare at him warily, like he’s a dangerous animal. Maybe he is at the moment.

“And I didn’t push you away because that’s what friends do, they’re there for each other. And then I thought maybe you were a bit freaked out and needed a day or two to think about things because…” Harry looks away, holding onto the anger so the hurt and vulnerability don’t break through. He takes a deep breath, his tone changing to less hectic but still laced with emotion.

“But you and I both know damn well that’s not what’s going on here.”

Zayn’s staring at the floor, his shoulders in a straight line, mirroring the tension in the room. He doesn’t lift his head when Harry stops speaking, intent on studying the ground when he says “Nothing’s going on here.”

Harry feels it like a punch in the gut. He wants to yell and throw things but a tantrum wouldn’t help anything, no matter how tempting it is.

“You kissed me back.” Harry whispers, eyes also falling to stare at the carpet.

He hears instead of sees Zayn’s sharp intake of air, and he lifts his eyes to see Zayn’s closed, as if not seeing the situation before him will make it go away.

“I was drunk Harry,” he says, voice stern but somehow also coming out as a sigh.

And yeah that’s it.

Harry can go along with it, ignoring the feelings and tension, playing along with this façade of a friendship when underneath lies something much more, something he wants almost desperately. He could brush it off right now, blaming it on stress for midterms or some other shitty excuse that they both would laugh off. He can _pretend_.

But in all honestly, he really can’t. Not with Zayn.

“You and I both bloody know that you won’t do something you don’t want to do, drunk or not. So don’t you dare stand there and act like I’m the only one feeling this when we both know I’m not.”

He takes a step toward Zayn, his feet moving of their own account.

“Don’t you dare treat me as a burden, or like I’m trying to make something out of what it’s not because you came back after I let you go and you fucking kissed me back and you’ve been avoiding my texts and calls for days so stop fucking pretending!” the last part comes out partially as a yell as Harry feels every ounce of anger latch onto every cell in his body, his frustration and hurt overtaking his manners.

It’s seems to be enough because Zayn is finally looking at him, and something must have broken in him because he starts to yell too.

“I’m not bloody pretending! I’m don’t know what you want me to say? I’m sorry for kissing you? Because I am. You’re acting like a madman and I’ve no bloody idea what you want from me!”

“I want you to stop fucking avoiding this!” and Harry moves forward and shoves Zayn, hard enough that he hits the door he must have shut beforehand.

“I’m not avoiding anything!”

“You kissed me back! God, you’re infuriating. I literally am so caught up in thinking about if you’re okay and if we’re okay when you’re literally fine with ignoring me and acting like I don’t exist so that you don’t have to face what it meant.”

“It didn’t mean anything!” he says as he steps forward to shove Harry, his anger getting the best of him.

“That’s why you’re ignoring me, right? Because it didn’t mean anything to you?” Harry asks.

Zayn’s eyes are sharp, chaos and anger swimming in pools of golden brown.

“You think this is a gay crisis? That I’m scared to admit I like blokes?” He asks, putting his hands on his chest.

“Because it isn’t. I know I like blokes, I’ve known that for some time. I’ve been with one before, alright? So that’s not what this is about if that’s what you’re getting at.”

Zayn’s eyes are glued to Harry, his jaw clenching and his hands balled into fists.

Harry’s breathing is coming out heavy, the adrenaline in him finally settling.

“So it’s just me, then? It’s me?” Harry asks, feeling the anger finally dissolve, melting into a lava that courses through his veins and arteries and flowing back to scorch the tissues around his heart.

“I don’t know what you want me to say” Zayn says again, also breathing heavily and looking at Harry; but for the first time, Harry doesn’t want to look back.

He feels the fatigue settle in his bones, days of anxiety and worries taking their toll on his body. He can’t do this anymore. He just can’t.

He presses the back of his hands to his eyes, pushing back the tears he knows are already forming again because Harry has always worn his heart on his sleeve, his emotions acting quick to take over his features. He cried when his cat died in year nine, he cried when Lou had her baby last year, and he cries every time Rose lets go of Jack in the bloody _Titanic_.

Zayn, however. Nothing compares to the feeling of Zayn telling him he’s not enough, because Harry wants it so much, more than anything.

But Zayn doesn’t.

And Harry can’t pretend anymore. He feels the tension tumble down around him along with his anger he used as a shield, leaving him bare and vulnerable with his ache.

He feels a tear fall, and he wipes at it as Zayn watches him with guarded eyes. He looks around the room, this room he’s been in multiple times and has been a testimony to their laughter and singing and bickering, all precious memories Harry kept guarded in his heart. He can’t make it any less than it is, he can’t do that to himself.

“When I was younger, my mum would always talk about love and like, finding someone like she found my pop. She would talk about what it means to love someone when she would drive me and Gemma places and like, I was a kid so I kept asking all these questions about it. And Gemma one day asked how we would know, that we found someone worth it. And my mum just told us ‘when you look at them and feel like you’re home.’ I didn’t get it then, I had a home with my family but it wasn’t like what she was talking about, you know?” He says, wiping stray tears as they fall and staring at his bag on the desk chair, the bottom of it starting to tear and open a new hole he’ll have to sow again.

He feels like his backpack at that moment, constantly trying to keep together between the holes he finds in his heart.

“I didn’t ever get what she meant, fully. I thought I did, but I really didn’t. Not until I met you.”

Zayn had been looking at the bag too, but when Harry said those words, his head snapped back to face him.

“I know the fear.  Because that’s what I feel around you; the gut wrecking, disgusting, blinding fear with what I feel for you, because it’s never been like this, not for me. I told myself I wouldn’t ever act on these feelings, that I’d grow up and marry a nice girl and settle, you know? I had only met one person I wanted to actually try with. He was my best friend, but he married a nice girl last June and that was it, you know? I decided to go back to pretending because then it wouldn’t sting so badly.”

Harry runs his hand through his hair, sighing a heavy sigh.

“But I can’t pretend anymore, Zayn. Not with you. I can’t pretend that I don’t look at you differently than any of my other mates. Because you’re not just a mate to me. You’re not and it’s killing me.”

Zayn’s nerve-wrenchingly quiet, and Harry’s not sure what he’s feeling because even his breaths are silent but Harry can’t stop the words from tumbling out of his mouth.

“I can’t… I don’t know how to explain what you do to me. Because you somehow make me feel parts of my heart that I didn’t know existed. I didn’t know I could feel this,” Harry says, still looking down, hands clenched in fists as he speaks his thoughts.

“You leave and I can’t breathe until you’re back again. It’s like my fucking lungs can’t work without you and it freaks me out because I’ve never depended on someone else like this before but, like, I don’t have a choice. I’ve never felt this weird, empty feeling in my gut that I always feel when you’re not in class or after you leave my rooms. And like, it’s… I get homesick when I’m not with you, because well, you feel like home to me.” Harry’s throat gets a little tighter as his nails press against the soft flesh of his palm, hard enough to draw blood.

“I can’t stop dreaming of this idea of you and me, of us together.”

He tries to swallow.

“God, I just can’t stop thinking about you. It’s you. It’s only you.” He whispers, the dryness of his throat making the statement come out rough.

He’s still looking down, the tension of the vulnerability he feels pouring down on him like a waterfall on his body, and he can’t fight the pressure enough to lift his head and look at Zayn. He’s thinking the stress is going to make him sob, and he feels the tendons in his heart straining, as if one small move will break them and crush his heart. Because he’s finally told Zayn, finally admitted it out loud and to Zayn, and he can’t take it back, even if he wanted to.

But he doesn’t want to. He could sleep forever if it meant he’d get to keep Zayn, even if it was only in his dreams.

He feels the tears form again in his eyes and he’s about to comment something along the lines of unrequited love when suddenly there’s a pressure under his chin, pushing his head up until his eyes are leveled with Zayn’s.

Zayn’s beautiful, brown eyes are looking at Harry without a trace of disgust, and the knots in his stomach tighten. They stare at each other, studying moles and eyelashes and lines etched into skin and Harry feels another tear fall. A finger brushes the tear off his cheek, slowly, and then he feels more than sees Zayn’s hand as it come to wrap around the back of his head, fingers pressing into his scalp. His head is being pulled forward until his forehead bumps against Zayn’s, their noses brushing against each other with what little space is between them.

Zayn’s eyes have closed now, but the pressure of his hand does not lessen. He doesn’t move from the proximity of Harry and Harry just stares at the one thing he wants most in this world.

“Say that again” Zayn whispers, eyes keeping closed and Harry suddenly notices how shallow Zayn’s breathing has come, puffing out in short spurts like he’s just gone for a run; running from or to this moment, Harry doesn’t know.

Harry lifts his hands to Zayn’s cheeks, cradling his face with feather-like pressure, and he can feel Zayn’s pulse beat erratically from where his pinky presses against Zayn’s neck.

Harry’s heart seems to have done the opposite effect, slowing down until it’s like it’s almost not there, shrinking back and away from Zayn because it knows pain and how it aches in the nights in the shower, when Harry tries to wash away the loneliness he feels carved into his bones, inked on his skin. He knows it all too well. Yet he finds himself closing his eyes too, opening the door of his heart to something unknown and terrifying.

“There’s only you. You are home for me.” Harry says, the emotions he feels making his hands shake as he presses closer, their mouths a hair away from each other, hovering over each other. Harry’s feels Zayn suck in a sharp breath, opens his eyes to see Zayn’s screwing shut more forcefully than before, his hand clutching onto Harry’s neck stronger as he brushes his nose against Harry’s, breathing him in.

And in that moment, everything between them is stripped away, leaving just them together, bare and open to each other. Because Harry crashed into Zayn, he finally told him, and Zayn hasn’t pushed him away. Not this time.

“I didn’t avoid you because I’m gay. I avoided you because I’m scared of you. Of what you do to me.” He whispers against Harry’s mouth, brushing their lips slightly; not kissing, just feeling.

“You make me want so many things I can drown with it” Zayn brushes his bottom lip against Harry’s top lip, and Harry’s whole body is trembling from the feel of Zayn on his skin. Zayn skims his lips over Harry’s nose, up to his eyes where he lets them settle over closed eyelids as Harry feels him swallow back something, probably his nerves.

Because Zayn is shaking too, lips trembling against Harry’s skin and hand shaking in Harry’s hair.

But he’s not letting go.

“Harry…” he sighs, moving back to place his lips against Harry’s, like a hummingbird against a rose.

“I could start fires with what I feel for you,” he whispers against Harry’s mouth, Harry feeling them bounce against his lips right before Zayn finally, finally, presses their mouths together.

It’s just like the first time in Harry’s room, where Harry feels everything clicking into place inside of him, but this time Zayn isn’t drunk. He’s not greedy for it like last time, trying to suck Harry’s breath out of him like he’s the oxygen he needs to breathe. He kisses him with reverence, closed mouth until finally he dares a flick of his tongue, wetting Harry’s bottom lip until Harry opens his mouth and Zayn pushes in.

It feels like everything he’s wanted but’s been too scared to ask for.

They kiss heatedly, hands hungry as they try to touch every part of each other, Harry’s hand going to tug at Zayn’s hair as Zayn moves just a fraction closer. It’s like suddenly there’s too much space between them because Harry pushes while simultaneously feeling Zayn pull him closer, pressing chest against chest, heart again heart, soul against soul. Harry feels an arm wrap around his waist as another snakes into his hair, grabbing and pulling like Zayn is trying to melt into Harry.

Harry moves to straddle Zayn after Zayn moves to sit on the bed, and they collide like comets in the sky. They push against each other as they kiss, pulling and feeling and as if making sure each other is actually there, that they are together in this moment. Harry bites down on Zayn’s lip and Zayn groans, hands moving from his back down to his ass, squeezing the flesh there and pulling at him. Harry pulls Zayn’s hair in retaliation, and suddenly it’s too overwhelming because next thing Harry knows, he’s pulling away from Zayn’s lips.

He’s met with blown out eyes, irises the size of planets that are drowning in lust and pleasure and it flips Harry’s stomach and sends electric currents down his veins. He goes back in to press one, two, three gentle kisses to Zayn’s mouth, sighing into the last one as Zayn cradles him in his arms.

The only thing surrounding them is the sound of their breathing mixing with the sounds of beating hearts, finally thumping along to the same rhythm.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you walk into lecture,” Zayn says as he moves to kiss along Harry’s jaw, evoking a smile from Harry.

“You noticed me?” Harry asks, running his hands through the soft crown of hair perched on Zayn’s head.

Zayn turns to kiss his wrist when it slides back to his face, keeping his eyes closed and voice soft.

“You’re the only one I saw that day,” he says against Harry’s palm. He kisses it and looks up at him, eyes unguarded and yearning. “You’re the only one I see. I can’t look away when I’m with you.”

Harry feels the damn elephants in his stomach again, stomping around and making his gut flip as he smiles down at Zayn.

Harry presses his forehead against Zayn’s, just as they had minutes ago. “I don’t want you to look away.”

Zayn pushes forward to knock their mouths together, sweet and wonderful, and says “I won’t.”

Harry wakes up the next morning with a full view of messy black hair crowning over a beautiful face, and he smiles because he knows he’s won this time.

 

 

+++

 

People say when you get into a new relationship, everything changes. You find some of yourself, you lose some of yourself, you lose some friends and you gain some friends. Apparently it’s like opening a door and stepping into another universe, because in a way it really is.

Things between them have only changed in the sense that there’s a lot more kissing and touching and devouring each other involved. A lot more kissing specifically involved in front of Niall, actually, who caught them in the act the second day into this, when he walked in and Harry was on top of Zayn, hands pulling up his shirt as he ran them along Zayn’s chest and Zayn’s hands inside his jeans, grabbing his ass. And yeah, that was probably the worst way to tell Niall but he seemed to take it well when he looked between the two of them before saying “fucking finally”, and then closing the door behind him as he left. And now he knocks, which is a plus.

Liam and Jace were all for it once they found out, because apparently the lot of them are like teen girls in grade school when it comes to gossip. When Harry and Zayn come out after Niall walked in on them, Jace and Liam both high fived them and congratulated them, like it was just a school project they completed which evoked eye rolling from Zayn and pink cheeks from Harry.

“Fuck” said Liam suddenly, eyes widening in realization of something. “I owe Louis ten quid now,” he finished before groaning.

Harry tilted his head in bewilderment before understanding registered in him.

“Wait, you bet on us?” he asked in astonishment.

Liam had the decency to look guilty when he met Harry’s gaze.

“Seriously? Real people actually do that?” comes in Zayn, who took a seat at the counter in the kitchen behind Harry and pulled him to stand between his legs, circling his fingers around Harry’s belt loops and Harry smiling the entire time.

Liam watched them and smiled too, appealingly happy at the contact. “I mean we all knew there was _something_. I just didn’t exactly place it as like, this. ” He said, waving his hand in front of him as he motioned to the two of them. “Or at least not it happening so soon.”

“You all knew?” asked Harry, hands sliding down to fit in the pockets of his jeans.

Liam, Niall, and Jace all rolled their eyes simultaneously and a groan comes out from one of them.

“Shut up. Seriously, shut up,” replied Niall as he moved to make his way to the fridge, Jace and Liam laughing.

Zayn and Harry had laughed too as Zayn’s fingers reached out to find Harry’s hand until it opened, so that he can hold Zayn’s fingers that fit between his. Harry tried not to think about how annoying his pining must have been. It doesn’t matter, he told himself, because that’s over now. Everyone knew and it was all okay.

Louis had been a different story.

He had called Harry one day that same week and asked him to stop by during his lunch break at the café, which made Harry instantly nervous because he’s conveniently never done that before.

When he got there later that evening, because Louis was working the late shift, Louis smiled and told him to follow him out back so he could have a smoke. They had walked through the doors and Harry was telling himself he had nothing to worry about, that it’s just Louis. But he couldn’t stop nervously looking around him and the alley seemed like the conveniently perfect place to murder someone and get away with it.

“How are things?” is how Louis decided he wanted to start the conversation.

Harry looked at him oddly, a smile playing on his lips.

“Things are… good.” He said, smile breaking through. “They’re really good Lou.”

Louis had smiled back, honey in his voice when he said “I know, H. I’m happy for you two. Really.”

He looked down at the cigarette between his fingers, watching the ash fall when he flicked at it with his thumb.

When he looked again at Harry, his smile had dropped.

“Look, I’m not going to give you the whole ‘don’t hurt him because I’ll hurt you’ speech, because we’re mates and I know you won’t hurt him. But you see, Zayn is family. I’m as protective of him as I am about my sisters, you know? He’s my brother, and I know he told you about his parents.” He says, eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

Harry nodded, watching Louis attentively.

Louis took another drag, letting the smoke flow out of his lips before he started talking again.

“I just want you to understand he’s never talked about it to anyone. It’s not something anyone knows, not even Jace. He won’t even let me bring it up without cutting me off or storming off, because like, well you know how he is. And like, I was there with him when it happened.”

Harry blinked at him, obediently listening. Louis looked at the wall across from them when he talked.

“I was there when it happened. We were neighbors, so I remember my parents telling me about it. And later, we went over to give our condolences and to just, like, hug them. “He said, looking down at his cigarette that’s almost to the filter.

“It was not a good time then, it wasn’t okay for a long while. It’s still not completely okay, to be honest, but they’re better now. I guess what I’m trying to say is like, just be patient with him, okay?”

Harry swallows and nods, tucking away Louis’s words so that he can think about them later.

“ ‘m really happy for you guys. I just, still have to be all older brother and shit. So don’t make it harder for him than it needs to be.”

He fixes Harry with a look, confidence in his stare and shoulders set like he was ready to brawl and Harry had smiled back at him because he understood, even though Louis was being absolutely ridiculous.

“I won’t, I don’t want to do that. I just want him.” He replied honestly.

Louis searched his eyes before nodding once, and then a small smile broke his somber expression before he walked forward to hug Harry like the sap that he is, going back to completely normal and even sharing some of his lunch. They sat and talked about their families, how Gemma is in London working for a fashion company and Louis talking about his sisters back in Doncaster who are starting to trespass into the world of boys and feelings, all the while giving him heart attacks. He also talks about his mum, who was getting married soon.

“I can’t believe you gave me the older brother speech,” Harry had teased, throwing a grape at Louis. It was just a little bit ridiculous, and he was definitely telling Niall.

Louis had smiled and shrugged, eating the grape that he had caught before it hit him.

“Shut up. It had to happen.”

“Awww Louis has a heart. It’s sweet.”

“Won’t be too sweet when I knock you off those gangly legs of yours if you hurt him.”

Harry threw another grape at him.

Just like that, everything seemed right. Things between all of them hadn’t changed much, and things between he and Zayn had just changed for the better.

They’ve spent the same amount of time around the boys, laughing around a pint or yelling at a video game, enjoying the semester with the best group of friends there is but lately Harry had been counting down the minutes until he’s marching Zayn back to one of their rooms and staying there for the rest of day, curled into each other and burning touches into soft skin.

One could say Harry was a bit hormonal.

It’s just so freeing, is the thing. That once you finally do something, once you finally allow yourself to enjoy it and give into it, it changes everything in you. Because he’s finally kissed a boy and a boy has kissed him back, and he finally knows what it’s like to feel the smooth skin of Zayn’s pecks, to kiss the dark moles patterned on his skin and run his fingers over the lines of his shoulders, feeling the muscles of his back contract against his touch. They’ve spent hours wrapped in each other but each time is like the first to Harry, that feeling of freedom and happiness coursing through his veins.

And he finally knows what it’s like to taste the tattoos on Zayn’s skin, when they’re lined with the sweat from the heat of their bodies as Zayn writhes underneath him with the way Harry tongues at his chest and collarbones, kissing and savoring every mile of skin he could get his hands on. He knows what it’s like to finally let himself have another person in the way he’s always wanted.

And he also finally knows what it’s like to be touched by another boy.

Like now, when Zayn flips them over amidst one heated snogging session and tugs at Harry’s shirt, brushing his lips against every inch that is revealed with each pull of the fabric. He starts to nip at the skin stretched across Harry’s collarbones, each time making Harry breathe harder and squirm just a little more with the excitement swirling inside him. Zayn reached for his hands and lifted them above Harry’s head beforehand, telling him to keep them there until Zayn told him otherwise, so Harry grabs at the sheets at the top of the bed to keep himself from grabbing Zayn. He wants to tug at Zayn’s head until he finds Harry’s lips again but he would probably die if Zayn stopped doing what he was doing.

Zayn licks stripes and bites at skin until he arrives at Harry’s nipple, kissing the delicate skin around it first before taking a lick at it, experimentally. Harry takes a sharp breath because _wow_ ; he’s never done _that_ before. When he finds how to work his lungs again, Zayn licks the stub again and again, flicking at it with his tongue and Harry felt himself grow harder at the feeling, pleasure and blood rushing straight to his groin. And when Zayn’s mouth latches down over it entirely, intense heat sucking onto him, Harry’s hips move up to find friction against Zayn and his hands ball tightly into fists, feeling like he is about to explode.

Suddenly, Zayn pulls away and Harry whimpers at the loss of contact, somewhat dazed. He opens his eyes and is about to ask what happened when he realizes his hands are no longer above his head but instead in Zayn’s hair, tugging at him from the roots and Zayn has looked up because of it.

They stare at each other, Harry unsure of what’s happening because Zayn stopped what he was doing when Harry moved without being told, and he didn’t know if he had crossed a line.

“You moved,” is all Zayn says, eyes keeping Harry’s gaze captive.

Harry nods, anxious.

“If you pull my hair enough, I’ll come” says Zayn, keeping his eyes on Harry. “Which is why I told you to keep your hands above your head.”

And _oh_.

Harry blinks at him before gaining courage and pulling at Zayn’s hair again, just once.

And he is able to watch as Zayn’s eyes screw closed and his hips rut forward against Harry’s leg where Harry can feel his prick twitch, a moan escaping his beautifully pink lips.

“Fuck” Zayn mutters, and that’s enough because Harry starts to pull again, watching Zayn fall apart with the feeling and move with every tug of his hair. Harry watches the entire thing, feeling his prick fill up until it is painfully hard but not caring because he’s witnessing Zayn lose it for the first time.

Zayn keeps moving his hips forward but when Harry lets one hand go, he finally looks up and the black in his eyes are blown out and his lips swollen from where he was biting them.

Right when Harry thinks Zayn is about to finish, Zayn yanks back and grabs at Harry’s hands again, pulling them away from his hair and back over the top of Harry’s head. The movement makes Zayn crawl back up his body until their faces and dicks are lined up, keeping their hands above them.

“Are you getting off on that?” He asks suddenly, tilting his head and his voice dipping low and scratching Harry’s nerves with the way it gets him all hot and bothered.

His grip on Harry’s wrists get a little tighter.

“Watching me…feeling me against you… hearing me moan? Do you like that?” he slowly asks, each pause exaggerated with a skim of his lips on Harry’s face and Harry feels his hips twitch forward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head as Zayn’s lips drive him insane.

“Yes” Harry says breathily, chest rising and falling with his quick breaths as Zayn starts to line kisses along his neck, licking at the skin next to his ear.

“You like feeling what you do to me?” Zayn asks before gently pressing their groins together, causing them both to moan. Harry tries to pull his hands out of Zayn’s grasp but Zayn holds on tighter.

“Nuh-uh. You had your fun. Now it’s my turn,” Zayn says as he reached over his bed to grab at something on the floor that Harry can’t see, Harry taking advantage of the momentary freedom and running his hands all along Zayn’s body, down his chest and along the hem of his jeans. He run his finger over Zayn’s zipper, fingers grabbing along the bulge there when Zayn grabs at his hand and pulls it back with his other one, the one that was still on Zayn’s waist, and bringing both wrists together in one hand. He moves forward so that Harry was flat on his back again, arms above his head and wrapping their fingers around the frame at the top of Zayn’s bed.

“Keep them there until I say when this time,” he says, kissing Harry once sweetly; Harry nods, lips against Zayn’s.

Zayn moves back down Harry’s chest, kissing like last time but this time when he reaches Harry’s nipples Zayn goes all in, sucking down hard and making Harry cry out and writhe underneath Zayn’s hovering frame. This time, he remembers to keep his hands on the bedframe but he feels moans and whimpers escape him even after Zayn pulls off with a pop, licking and kissing again to soothe Harry’s raw chest.

“Zayn” he says, voice wrecked with the desire swimming behind his eyes.

“Yes, baby?” Zayn replies as he continues to lick and nip Harry’s chest, down his pecks and onto the hard muscles of his stomach. Harry feels it like an explosion every time.

“Zayn, please” was all he manages to say as Zayn starts to nose the hairs on Harry’s stomach, following the trail down to the waistband of his jeans. He keeps moving until he is brushing against the zipper, Harry’s throbbing cock underneath the fabric.

“Please what?” he asks against Harry’s bulge.

Harry doesn’t come at that, but it’s a near thing.

“Please” he says again. He doesn’t know exactly what he was asking for, but he knew if Zayn didn’t touch him again soon he would die.

“Hmmmm” Zayn hums against Harry, lips giving Harry’s dick a hot, open mouth kiss through the constraining fabric that makes tears form in Harry’s eyes from the stimulation.

“Zayn, oh God.” He moans his name like a prayer, and Zayn hears it loud and clear.

He sits up from where he was lying on top of Harry, and his hand goes straight to Harry’s button of his jeans before pausing and looking at Harry.

“Is this okay?” Zayn asks, breaking some of the tension which the gentleness his words and searching Harry’s eyes. Harry’s heart starts to hurt with how much he was feeling, in his heart, in his dick, on his skin and in the marrow of his bones.

“Yes.” He nods, not taking his eyes of Zayn. “Yes. I want you.” He replies in a hurry, painfully honest and bare.

Zayn bends down to kiss his stomach and smile into his skin before sitting back up and getting to the task at hand.

His hands undo Harry’s jeans, unzipping them and slowly pulling them down as Harry lifts his hips to help get them off, leaving him just in his briefs that are already wet with precome leaking from the head of his dick.

Zayn moves to tug at those too, looking at Harry one last time and giving him a chance to opt out but Harry nods again. He has literally never been more sure of anything in his entire life.

With one quick move of Zayn’s hands, Harry’s dick swings up with the freedom. He is finally naked and Zayn’s eyes scan the entire length of his body before landing on his dick, licking his lips before bending down and stopping just above it to press a quick kiss to the head. Harry’s hands start to lose feeling with how tight he is squeezing the bedframe.

Right when he is about to say his hands are going to fall off, Zayn’s hand comes to wrap around him in glorious pleasure and Harry’s voice dies in his throat, a moan escaping instead at the way it makes everything in his body constrict. He has just a second to recover before Zayn is saying softly “you can touch me now” and taking Harry’s dick into his mouth.

Harry’s hand fly to his hair then and Zayn starts to suck at the head, tongue flickering around his shaft and between the slit as he licks up the liquid there. Harry pulls Zayn’s roots with it, causing the other boy to moan around his dick.

“Fuck, Zayn. Fuck fuck fuck” Harry starts to chant as Zayn opens his mouth more and takes Harry further, Harry feeling the wetness of his mouth send white heat to his spine, making his toes curl.

Zayn keeps sucking around moans, moving back up to make room for his hand before he starts sucking and wanking Harry off at the same time, moving at a rhythm that has Harry’s legs shaking and eyes filling with tears. When Harry thinks Zayn has opened his mouth to its max, he shifts his tongue and hollows out his cheeks, the feeling of his mouth making Harry’s stomach muscles twitch and his hands shake with what Zayn is doing to him.

Harry never thought he could feel love through a blowjob.

“I’m close” he warns as he feels his orgasm begin to pool in his stomach, the anticipation making him pull Zayn’s hair tighter.

Zayn keeps blowing him avidly, not letting up in the slightest and Harry looks down as he tugs harder because he’s sure he is going to rip a handful of black hair out. That’s when he notices that Zayn has a hand in his trousers, pulling himself off to what he is doing to Harry and that’s it.

Harry comes with a shout of Zayn’s name on his lips, his release shooting into Zayn’s mouth. He feels Zayn swallow him dry even though Harry’s hips twitch forward and nudge further down his throat, making Zayn gag, but he doesn’t pull away until Harry does. When Harry can finally see again and recovers enough to look down, he sees Zayn still wanking himself off so he grabs at him and leans forward until they were kissing, Zayn moaning into Harry’s lips as he pulls himself closer to the edge.

“Harry” he whispers between kisses and Harry kisses him harder, remembering his hair and moving his hands toward it.

“Come for me, love.” Harry says gently as he tugs at Zayn’s probably raw scalp, hard.

Zayn’s body shakes once before his hips twitch forward and he moans a curse onto Harry’s lips, his whole body hunching in as he rides out his orgasm. He leans tiredly into Harry and Harry wraps his arms around him to hold Zayn, pressing gentle kisses on Zayn’s mouth. Zayn doesn’t kiss back, too spent from their activities, but instead just says Harry’s name again as Harry kisses his forehead and moves to lie down, dragging Zayn with him onto the bed. They land with an “oof” from Harry and a tired laugh from Zayn. Harry helps rid Zayn of his jeans and briefs before curling together under the blankets, wrapping around each other and letting wandering hands memorize the traces of skin.

Apparently Zayn has a hair kink and Harry likes to pull hair. Zayn likes to dominate while Harry likes to be bossed around in bed.

A perfect match.

“That was amazing” Harry says after they relax for five minutes in comfortable silence.

“ ’m glad you think so” Zayn says with a smile, eyes closed and head turned toward Harry on the pillow, the blanket covering some of his back.  Harry moves it so that he could see Zayn’s tattoo on the back of his neck.

A thought pops into Harry’s head then that he tries to push away before he can voice it.

But then

“It was just one bloke, then?” he asks, curiosity getting the better of him.

Zayn opens one eye to look at Harry, trying to decipher his tone and expression.

“What?”

Harry swallows before starting again.

“You said before you’ve been with a bloke, and I mean your sex skills are hardly lacking, so I mean…” he trails off, not knowing what he was trying to finish with.

Zayn fixes him with a look for a second before an eyebrow quirks up and a smirk starts to pull at his lips.

“Are you jealous?”

“No” replies Harry a little too fast, not sure if he means it or not.

“It just seems like you knew what you were doing” he mutters, hand coming to curl into a fist by his mouth like it is trying to muffle his words.

Zayn keeps looking at him until he’s moving to hover over Harry, Harry flipping onto his back so that Zayn can settle on top of him.

“You are the only boy I know who would get jealous of my past after getting what appears to be the best blowjob ever” he teases as his hand pushes back some of Harry’s hair off his eyes, softly playing with it.

Harry feels his blush rise to his cheeks, mixing with the after-flush as a result of their sex.

“It’s a reasonable thought” he argues for his sake.

“Not directly after cuming into my mouth” Zayn replies, smirk fully spreading over his face.

Harry groans and tries to roll over but Zayn laughs and cages him in with his arms, kissing Harry’s face to try to calm him down.

“Relax, babe. I was teasing.” He says as he leans forward to hover his lips above Harry’s, like he’s not sure if Harry was actually mad or just being stroppy.

Harry sighs and kisses the worries away.

“But really” he adds on, making Zayn laugh again.

“But really, yes, I’ve only been with one bloke. But I was with him for about four months and like, we weren’t exactly like, waiting for marriage or anything,” he states, looking directly at Harry.

Harry feels something kick in his stomach.

“What do you mean?” he asks, lifting his hand to rub his fingers along Zayn’s arm.

Zayn looks at him like he knows exactly how Harry is feeling but is letting him pretend otherwise.

“He was my first everything with a bloke,” he says simply, not giving Harry details, which Harry is grateful for.

“Why did you guys break up?” Harry asks as calmly as he can against the raging jealousy he feels bubble in his torso. He knows it’s ridiculous to feel like that, but it’s Zayn.

That starts to be his answer to everything, apparently.

“We were never really together, honestly. We fancied each other but it was more of a ‘we couldn’t stay in the closet anymore’ type relationship. He was a year older than me so he went off to uni and started living his life over there and I kept living my life in Bradford.”

Harry eyes him skeptically.

“Really?” he asks, hand now running along Zayn’s side, tracing his ribs. Zayn shivers at the contact.

“What?” he asks, trying to understand Harry’s reaction.

Harry shrugs and looks away when he responds, down at the tattoos on Zayn’s chest.

“I don’t know. You just don’t hear many stories about two people sleeping together for four months without like, falling for each other.”

Zayn watches him for a minute, eyes glancing around his face, expression neutral.

“I suppose” he says, drawing the words out.

Harry doesn’t meet his gaze until Zayn nudges him, seeking his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

Harry looks away again, at anything that’s not Zayn. “Nothing.”

Zayn huffs at the word and suddenly a hand is under Harry’s chin, pushing it up until he is forced to face Zayn.

“Harry, what’s wrong?” he asks again.

And Harry sighs as he feels his stubbornness dissolve away.

“I guess it just kind of bothers me? That it didn’t mean anything to you?” he said, sentences like questions because he’s not sure if he’s explaining it the way he wants to.

“I never said it didn’t mean anything to me” Zayn replies, his expression still unnervingly neutral.

“Okay, I mean how it didn’t mean as much to you as like, you would think it would” Harry tries again, knowing he’s failing.

Zayn’s eyes narrow in confusion, and Harry is suddenly very aware that they are both naked under the sheet.

“I mean, it meant something and I’ll always remember him because he was my first, but, I guess? It’s just how I am, really. I don’t get attached easily,” Zayn offers as an explanation, hand still on his face.

Harry feels his stomach drop with those words.

“Okay” he mutters, ending the conversation.

But Zayn isn’t one to let things go apparently.

“What’s going on? Why are you being weird?” he asks, hand curling around Harry’s cheek as he keeps their faces turned toward each other, open and honest.

Harry doesn’t want to talk about it though. He’d rather just forget he even brought it up.

“It’s really nothing” he tries, hoping Zayn will drop it.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing” Zayn argues.

Harry starts to feel frustration curl around his thoughts because he really doesn’t want to talk about this.

“Zayn, let it go” he says, force in his words.

But Zayn is still looking at Harry, eyes boring into him as Harry keeps quiet and stares right back.

Zayn nods once before rolling away from Harry and off the bed, opening a drawer and reaching in for a pair of clean boxers, his earlier ones ruined.

Harry follows his movements with his eyes, and suddenly he remembers back to that one day where Zayn left him alone on his bed after Niall walked in on them, and he feels fear clutch his heart.

“Where are you going?” he asks, sitting up.

“Nowhere. You’re obviously done talking so” Zayn finishes, reaching for his jeans and pulling them back on.

“So?” pushes Harry, not following.

But Zayn reaches to button his jeans before finally looking back at Harry.

“So nothing. You don’t want to talk so we won’t talk.” He says.

Harry stares at him, not sure what’s happening.

“Why did you get out of bed and put on your pants?” he asks, frustration leaking onto his words because of the way Zayn is acting.

“Well there’s nothing left to talk about and I’m not going to push you” he says with a shrug, still standing there.

“So you’re just going to leave?” Harry challenges, annoyed now.

“I’m not leaving. I’m just giving you space.”

“Who said I wanted space?”

Zayn shrugs again, letting Harry’s words linger.

Harry sighs, hand coming to scratch at his scalp.

“Why are you being like this?” he asks, frustration urging him on.

“I’m not being like anything.”

“Yes, you are.”

“I literally just put some pants on.” Zayn challenges back, and Harry hears a change in his tone, irritation coloring his voice.

“Why did you move away?” he asks, and he knows he sounds clingy and whiny but the memory of Zayn leaving is still fresh in his mind and is making him ache.

“I thought you might want some space” Zayn repeats himself from early, ending with a sigh.

“I didn’t.” Harry replies.

So Zayn nods and walks back over to the bed and lies down next to Harry, not touching.

Harry feels like there’s an ocean between them instead of half a foot, and he feels like it’s a gap he created.

He just didn’t want to talk about it.

“Are you going to talk to me?” Harry asks, the tension pushing his limits.

“What do you want to talk about?” asks Zayn, still staring at the ceiling.

“Zayn” Harry groans, Zayn’s apathy adding onto his already jumbled emotions.

“What, Harry?” Zayn snaps, finally letting some emotions break through his mask.

And Harry’s done with this.

He gets up from the bed and finds his underwear and jeans piled into a ball near the wall, pulling them on quickly and buttoning up his jeans with shaky fingers before turning in a circle to look for his shirt.

“What are you doing?” asks Zayn, who Harry knows is watching him.

“Leaving” replies Harry as he leans down to pick up a shirt that is his, but it’s not the one he was wearing earlier. He didn’t realize Zayn started snagging his clothes recently.

Not the time for these thoughts however.

“Why are you leaving” asks Zayn through clenched teeth.

“Because I didn’t want to talk about something and now you’re being difficult” Harry says, words like daggers.

It’s enough because Zayn finally gets up and comes to stand in front of Harry, eyes angry and sharp.

“You said to let it go so I did. I don’t understand why you’re acting like this” he says, an accusation hidden between the syllables.

“I’m not even acting like anything” Harry snaps, breaking his search for his socks to turn and stare at Zayn, who is standing with clenched fists and a tight jaw.

“I didn’t want to talk about something and you got up and started acting all weird and then you won’t even talk to me so _forgive me_ if I feel like I’m not wanted here” he snaps, anger lacing around his words like ivy.

“I dropped the subject like you wanted me to. I just put my jeans on, I don’t know why it’s got you so angry” Zayn snaps back, holding his ground.

And seriously, fuck it.

“I just didn’t want to talk about _that_. I didn’t say to stop talking to me period, for fucks sake.” Harry says with anger now.

“Why did you not want to talk about it?” Zayn asks as he takes a step forward, crowding Harry’s space. “You’re literally getting ready to leave because apparently I’m not talking to you when you stopped talking to me first.”

“Oh my god, I just didn’t want to talk about that!” Harry says loudly, raising his voice.

“Why don’t you want to talk about _that_?!” Zayn says, voice also raising.

This is not how Harry pictured them spending their afternoon.

“Forget it” Harry says, giving up on the socks and grabbing his shoes as he makes a pass for the door. Zayn is quicker than Harry though, because he’s in front of the door before Harry can reach for it and he blocks Harry’s hand from the handle.

“Move.”

“No.”

Harry pinches the bridge of his nose with the rising tension suffocating the air in the room.

“Zayn, move. Please.”

“No. You’re angry.”

Harry feels the last straw of patience he had break under the weight of his anger.

“Yes. I am angry. I am very angry and I would like it if you would please bloody move” he says, raising his voice again and trying to reach around Zayn for the door.

But Zayn knocks his hand away and blocks the path again.

“Zayn, get out of the way!” he yells, not caring anymore. “Stop treating me like a child and get out of the way!”

“I’m not treating you like a fucking child!” Zayn yells back, arms spread out like he’s in a game of basketball, defending.

“Then why won’t you let me leave?!” Harry yells.

“Because the last time I let someone leave during a fight, he fucking died!” Zayn yells back, face exploding with emotion as his words sink in.

Harry snaps out of his anger immediately, Zayn’s words stabbing at his insides.

He reaches forward and grabs a hold of Zayn, who looks like he’s about to cry, and brings him toward his body so that he can hug him tightly. Zayn shakes in his arms, grabbing onto Harry with a viselike grip, and Harry feels moisture on his neck where Zayn’s face is and he knows he’s crying.

“Okay, okay. I’m not leaving” he says, rubbing up and down’s Zayn’s back in a soothing manner, the anger and irritation he felt before completely gone now.

“I can’t let you walk out that door like this” Zayn says, words muffled from his mouth against Harry’s neck.

“I’m not going. I’m not” he whispers, turning to kiss Zayn’s head.

He holds Zayn for a minute, feeling exhaustion creep into the corners of his mind from the rollercoaster of emotions they just went through.

“I’m sorry” Zayn says, letting go of Harry and pulling away so he can wipe at his eyes with his hands, shaking his head a bit.

“It’s okay” Harry says, keeping his hands on Zayn’s sides and keeping him close.

Zayn seems to have gathered himself because when he lifts his head, his eyes are a little red but he’s not crying anymore.

“No, really, I’m sorry. You were right, I was acting like a prat earlier because I was annoyed that you shut down on me and then I took it out on you, like a prat. And now I’ve sprung my fucking parent’s death on you like an asshole. I’m sorry” he repeats, looking at Harry with sad eyes.

“It’s okay. Honestly, it’s okay. I’m sorry too, I wasn’t helping the situation. And I did shut down on you, it’s not all on you” Harry says, pulling Zayn closer so he can wrap his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and knock their foreheads together.

“Stop trying to take away the blame” Zayn teases weakly, arms coming to wrap around Harry’s torso to hold him.

“ ’m not. I should apologize too” Harry says back, meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“You’ve not a reason to. I shouldn’t get mad if you don’t want to talk about something” Zayn says back, hand coming up to cup Harry’s cheek.

Harry turns them around and walks Zayn backwards until his legs hit the bed and he sits on the edge, Harry moving to straddle him, his favorite position. He likes the way Zayn looks up at him when he does it. He starts running his fingers through Zayn’s soft hair, sweeping it off his face.

“While that is true” Harry teases, earning a small smile from Zayn, “it doesn’t mean I should shut down on you like that. I was the one asking the questions and then I just stopped it and that wasn’t fair of me. I’m sorry, love” Harry says, kissing Zayn’s forehead.

Zayn stares up at him after Harry pulls back, eyes soft and voice tender.

“Why did you shut down on me? What did I do?” he asks.

Harry frowns at that.

“You didn’t do anything” he says.

“But why- ”

“It wasn’t you” Harry sighs, opening up. “I just didn’t want to talk about it because, well, I was jealous.”

Zayn gives him a confused look.

“Why were you jealous?”

Harry feels the displeasure from opening up start to claw at his stomach and chest but he wills it to go away, for Zayn.

“It wasn’t that I was jealous, per say. I just, like, I guess I started comparing me to him.”

And now Zayn looks really confused.

“Why?” he asks animatedly.

And this is the part Harry hates most, because he’s rubbish at emotional intimacy.

“Because you were with him for four months, and you didn’t feel strongly for him. And we’ve not been together a month and I’m not exactly experienced in this” and Zayn grunts at that, “and like, you said you don’t get attached easily.  And it scared me.”

Zayn’s eyebrows have scrunched together during his talk, and Harry wants to smooth them out but he also doesn’t want to move.

“You’re scared?” he asks.

Harry nods.

Zayn looks at him for a moment before a thought dawns on him and his eyebrows scrunch more in incredulity.

“You’re scared that I won’t get attached to this, to you, like I wasn’t with Damen?” he asks, disbelief in his tone.

Harry swallows and nods, feeling more exposed in this moment than he did when he was bloody naked awhile ago.

But Zayn wraps his arms around his torso and falls back until Harry’s lying on top of him, and then he rolls over so that Harry is the one on the bed, Zayn on top of him. Harry allows himself to be moved, staying quiet and still through it all.

“Harry” he says, trying to get Harry’s attention where it’s preoccupied with the ceiling.

“Harry, look at me.” Zayn says, again once more until Harry finally sucks it up and looks at him.

Zayn is looking down at him with fondness in his eyes and a soft smile on his lips, his hand coming to cup his cheek and brushing his thumb along his cheekbone.

“I have felt more in these few weeks with you than I ever felt in those four months with him” he says, gazing at him achingly sweet. Harry feels his heart race with those words and he feels a small smile crawl onto his lips, ridding the bad taste of vulnerability he had just moments ago in his mouth.  

“Really?” he asks, softly.

Zayn leans down to kiss Harry’s forehead, muttering a “yes, love” before kissing trails along Harry’s skin, over his eyelids and on the bridge of his nose, across his cheeks and on the corners of his lips. His hand moves from Harry’s face to find his hand instead, slotting their fingers together.

“You’re not like the Damen, or Perrie, who I dated in sixth form, or anyone else I’ve ever fancied. You’re so much more than them.” He says as he presses kisses to Harry’s mouth, sweet with his words.

“I told you I could start fires with what I feel for you, and I meant it. It’s like this fire I feel in my heart, like, you keep me warm. You give me light, you give me life. You burn me with every touch.”

Harry feels a shiver run along his spine at Zayn’s declaration, feeling this blooming feeling inside of him explode like fireworks in the sky, like colors he’s never dreamed of being splashed across a white canvas and filling up pale walls with colorful emotions that mix and mesh until they create a perfect harmony of beauty and love.

“I love you, you know” Harry says, feeling the words escape him before he can stop them. Because even though they haven’t been together for a month yet, and they’ve known each other for only a few months, and they’re young and innocent and have so much to see and there are so many things in their lives that they’re unsure of, like what tomorrow will bring or who they will be in five years’ time, despite all of that, Harry is sure of one thing and that is that he loves Zayn. He felt it that first time, when he woke up to Zayn in his bed and in his heart, that utter feeling of something life-changing, something bigger than the sun taking over him as he stared at a pair of golden brown eyes staring back at him.

“I love you, Zayn” he says again, riding on the wave of emotions he feels, from freedom to fear to love to fear again. Zayn is still quiet, staring at Harry and it’s making Harry want to throw up with the way the silence sits between them.

There are fingers still caught in his hair, and there are eyes still staring at him, but there are no words being said between them and Harry’s scared because he doesn’t know how to be vulnerable for someone else’s sake.

"I've never been in love before" says Zayn, breaking the silence but not doing anything to settle the tension.

Harry starts because-

Because what does that even mean?

“Uh” says Harry, not knowing what else to say because, well.

“I’ve been missing out” Zayn says with a smile.

And oohhh.

“You nut” Harry says through a laugh, wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and pulling him down for a bruising kiss. Zayn laughs into it, adding more of his weight on Harry like he’s engulfing him in a hug, pressing their bodies closer together.

Zayn pulls back and smiles, fondness emulating from his features.

“I love you” he says, face gone serious and tone edging toward soft, words like a feather brushing Harry’s skin but also like elephants dancing around his heart .

Harry leans up to kiss him once, gently, wrapped up in their moment of vulnerability and letting it feel like home.  

"I'll try to not shut you out again," Harry says, keeping his voice light and soft.

"I'll try not to be so stubborn" Zayn says, matching Harry's tone.

"Oh well, there's no hope for that" Harry teases, laughing softly.

"Hey, I said I'll try" Zayn jokes back, smile lighting up his face and Harry looks at him like he's just discovered the greatest treasure on Earth.

And he has. Love, in the shape of a boy with raven black hair and honey brown eyes, with lips are pink as flowers and cheekbones sharp enough to cut your heart right in half; a boy with tattoos covering miles of beautiful brown skin and with a heart that's been broken but beats stronger than any other, matching the rhythm of Harry's and creating a new song that only they know.

“Well” Harry starts, “I promise not to assume as much. Gets everything all muddy and complicated.”

“Babe, you’re complicated.”

“Hush up.”

Zayn laughs again, and he’s been giggling a lot more lately and Harry feels his heart beat with it every time.

“To be fair, you did warn me that you assume things” he responds.

Harry looks up at him with a happy, confused look.

“I did?”

Zayn nods at him.

“Yes, at that first party I came to, when you assumed I was dating Louis.”

And yeah, there goes Harry’s integrity out the window, exactly where he would like to be at this moment.

“Oh god” he says, covering his face with his hands and somewhat turning away from his boyfriend.

“I don’t blame you, he’s fit as fuck.”

And Harry peeks through his fingers to give Zayn a look.

“Oh he is, now?” Harry says inquisitively, playing along.

“Definitely. If he wasn’t family, I don’t know” Zayn says with a cheeky grin, “anything could happen. I mean, have you seen those thighs?”

Harry bites his lip to keep from laughing but he knows he must look extremely amused.

“Hmmm?” he says, going to wrap his arms around Zayn’s middle.

“And that ass” Zayn says with a lift of his eyebrows, still sporting a smirk as he looks down.

“You’re consciously lusting after Louis right now, are you aware?” asks Harry in a teasing tone.

Zayn just shrugs, going to pull back. It’s about time they get up to join the world again, or the very least eat something. But Harry grips him tighter around the shoulders, pulling him closer and settling into something a tad more heavy.

“I didn’t know it still gets to you like that” Harry mutters. When Zayn looks at him confused, he explains “About me leaving. And your parents.”

Zayn’s expression falls into something sad, gaze heavy on Harry.

“I didn’t know. I’m sorry, love” Harry says.

Zayn smiles a small smile at him.

“I try not to think about it. But we were fighting and when you moved to the door, I broke. I couldn’t not think of it and I just” he says, words fumbling out and he swallows once before leaning down to touch their foreheads together.

“I couldn’t let you go, not like that. I don’t know what I would do if I lost you too” he says quietly.

The words pelt against Harry’s heart, a surge of protectiveness and a love shaking his whole body, overwhelming him.

“I can’t… I don’t know what I would do.” Zayn whispers this time.

Harry hugs him closer, melting their bodies together.

“You won’t lose me” he says with conviction.

Zayn closes his eyes and breathes heavier than he was a minute ago, letting him soak in Harry’s words and his warmth and his love.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And Zayn just nods once before moving to lie on top of Harry, resting his head under Harry’s chin, ear against Harry’s heart. Harry wraps one arm around him and runs a hand through the soft, thick hair as he breathes him in. They lie like that for about an hour, soaking each other in and talking here and there about things, the mood around them gradually shifting and becoming lighter with every minute that passes by. They eat and accomplish some homework, watch a little television with Jace before bed, and each time their eyes lock Harry knows they’re saying silent I love you’s with their gazes, or with a lingering hands on waists or with the way they’re literally been not more than three feet apart the entire night. Harry stays because he doesn’t want to leave but also because he knows Zayn needs him to stay, even if he doesn’t say it exactly.

They brush their teeth and wash their faces, then strip down until they’re just in their briefs and they settle into bed with arms and legs wrapped around the each, pulling themselves closer and closer until they’re comfortable and there seems to be no space between them.

“I love you” Harry says into the darkness where he’s sure Zayn’s face is.

Even if he can’t see him, he can feel him smile when gentle lips find his, kissing him once before saying “and I love you.”

They sleep under warm blankets and hearts, keeping them safe throughout the night and even when the sun rises the next morning.

 

 

                                                            +++

 

 

Harry notices it around their second month together, between all the soppy happy times and underneath all the memories that taste of sugar. He notices it when he finally gets the nerve to start talking about his parents more, where before he was cautious to not upset Zayn, who actually didn’t seem all too bothered when Harry started talking about family.

But it starts when Harry mentions going home this summer and the fact that he and Zayn live in different parts of England. The topic of visiting goes okay, but Harry feels a shift when he asks Zayn who should visit who and he sees Zayn immediately still, haunches raised and eyes like ice.

“What?” he asks, hands falling down from where they were held midair, caught like a strike of lightning just struck him.

Harry had been messing with his laptop but Zayn’s sudden change in tone made him stop browsing and slowly look at Zayn across the room.

“What?” asks Harry, confused.

Zayn continues to stare at him with wide eyes, frozen in place.

“What did you ask?”

Harry feels suddenly like there’s a wrong answer to this question.

“I was asking who should visit who first” he repeats, blinking at Zayn.

Zayn clears his throat and looks away, lips caught between his teeth in one of his usual nervous ticks. When he turns back to look at Harry, he appears to have tried to relax his shoulders but Harry can feel his walls being brought up. It’s like Zayn has these raw nerves that Harry sometimes steps on because their boundaries are always blurred with each other.

“Well” Zayn starts, “I could probably visit no problem. It’s only about, what, an hour and some away?”

Harry nods, still observing Zayn.

“I could probably come and go back home later the same, since it’s not too far. That was I don’t inconvenience anyone.”

“I can come visit too, that way you’re not the only one driving” Harry says, trying to be fair.

But Zayn’s eyes flash with something, and Harry’s not sure if what he saw was good or bad.

“Didn’t you say you have to work in your gran’s bakery this summer?” Zayn reminds Harry.

“I’ll have days off” Harry shrugs, still on high alert. “It’s possible I could ask for more than a day.”

“I wouldn’t want to be inconvenient” Zayn argues, looking down.

Harry feels panic start to form in his gut.

“You wouldn’t be an inconvenience, Zayn” Harry deadpans, completely put off by Zayn’s behavior.

Why doesn’t he want to visit him?

“Plus I’ve never been to Bradford, and I could see Louis while I’m there.”

“I could bring him with me.”

“That’s not the point.” Harry says, starting to get irritated but still panicked.

“I’m just saying” Zayn says with a shrug, looking at his phone in his hands, “I’m up for the drive. But summer’s a while away, we don’t need to talk about this right now” and he gets up from where he was sitting on a chair to cross over to Harry, removing the laptop from his lap to place it on the floor before crawling on top of Harry on the bed and kissing him, which does a decent job at distracting Harry from his thoughts, but Harry only tucks them away to the back of his mind where he can think about this conversation later without the heat of Zayn’s mouth on his skin.

It’s the same type of thing, however, a couple days later when Jace and Niall bring up visiting over the summer and touring more of England and Zayn pitches the idea of meeting up in London, grabbing a hotel for the weekend and just seeing the sites. Louis doesn’t add anything to the conversation, just watching as Liam and Niall argue about what sites they want to see, but Harry doesn’t miss the look Louis and Zayn share when they think no one is looking, a secret passing between them that does nothing to settle the nerves in his throat.

A week later, when Harry’s on the phone with his mum, he feels the weight of their conversation add to the pressure.

“So” she asks, after they’ve discussed how classes were going and how Niall was doing, “any girl you’ve found interesting yet?”

Harry feels his whole body sigh, but he doesn’t let it flow out of his mouth for his mother to hear.

“No mum, there’s no girls I find interesting here” he responds, which is the truth, in a very obscure way.

His mum chuckles that knowing chuckle she has, when she’s about to shower him with a wise pep talk.

“Don’t worry sweetie, you’ll find her soon. There’s so many people at uni, and you still have some time left” she tries, like she always does every time Harry says he hasn’t found a girl.

“I don’t think there’s a girl for me here” he says, a part of him starting to become irritable with himself for how he’s lying to her.

“You sure? You’re still so young, darling. You never know. You could find her after uni too, like I did with your father” she says, completely oblivious to the inner struggle Harry’s hiding from her.

The conversation stays with him throughout the phone call, even after he manages to change the subject to her garden, which she transitions into happily, delighted to talk about her pyramidal orchids.

It stays with Harry when he asks about his gran and the bakery, and it stays with him after he tells his mum he loves her and hangs up, like a stain on his mind and blocking him from seeing anything else.  It hovers around his thought all day long, bouncing back to his concentration at the most random and inconvenient times, and he feels it with every step he takes.

The thing is, Harry’s been wanting to tell her he’s gay. It’s something he’s been thinking a lot more of the past couple weeks, mainly because he wants his family to know he’s found someone. He wants them to meet Zayn. If he’s being honest, he has no idea how that conversation will go because his parents have never outright told him that they hate gays, but there has been sign. Like how there's always been that lingering stare from their eyes whenever that one Tommy Wilicks boy was around, the one and only openly gay guy in his small town. Though they’ve never been rude or mean toward the boy, Harry saw the way they clucked their tongues and how their heads raised a little higher when he was around, judgement in their eyes and body language. They’ve never told Harry not to be his friend, but somehow Harry knew better than to ask if he could go to Tommy’s 16th birthday, knowing full and well his mum would tell him no. It’s always been this unsaid thing that stabbed at Harry every time he witnessed it.

There was also the fact that his parents always put the emphasis on the “girl” part when asking of his dating. It’s always “any lucky girl yet?” or “any cute girls in your class?” or his personal favorite “so when are you going to find a nice girl to marry and give me grandchildren”, which is in part Gemma’s fault because two years ago she happened to tell them she didn’t want to get married or have children one night over dinner, something his parents did not take well and have been trying to convince her otherwise since. It’s the fact that they always ask if he’s found a nice _girl_ yet, not if he’s found a nice _someone_. He had bitten his tongue so many times during their phone conversations, and he knows it’s his own fault since he hasn’t told them, but at the same time it makes him mad that he has to _tell_ them, like he has to _warn_ them of his gayness before he brings a guy home, as if it’s a bad thing.

Because that would mean Zayn is a bad thing, and it makes Harry mad that it feels that way because Zayn is anything but bad. And because he has Zayn, he wants to be able to talk about his boyfriend with his mum and dad, just like he would if he had a girlfriend instead.

That’s how it all starts to form, honestly, because he finds himself telling Zayn about the phone call later when they’re lying in bed, Harry on his side and leaning up on his elbow to look down on Zayn who’s watching him with attentive eyes, listening to him rant.

“It just makes me so angry, honestly. Why do they have to assume it’s a girl? It’s like the possibility of having a gay son is beyond approachable for them. I’m still me, even if I don’t like girls.” Harry says, knowing he's whining a bit but he deserves to.

He thinks he does anyway.

Zayn is running a hand up and down the length of Harry’s arm in a soothing way, rubbing circles and patterns gently with his fingers.

“It’s how the world is, love. It’s like that phrase people say, innocent until proven guilty? People are straight until proven gay in this world.” Zayn says.

Harry pulls a face at him. “I don’t like that. The parallels make it seem like it’s a bad thing to be gay."

“Well obviously, that’s not what I was trying to say, you nut” Zayn says as he tickles Harry’s ribs, eliciting a happy squeak from Harry, “Let me try this again. Your parents grew up in a completely different time than us. For them, it wasn’t ‘normal’, like there were less gays than there are now but in reality there’s the same amount, people just didn’t pay as much attention as they do now.” Zayn says as his hand grazes Harry’s forearm.

“I know” Harry sighs “it just sucks because I want to tell them about you but they’re too busy asking me about meeting a girl to actually find out I’ve met someone. I want them to get to know _you_.”

Zayn leans forward to kiss Harry, hand coming to fit against his neck and rubbing the skin by Harry’s ear with his thumb. Harry kisses back and feels some of the tension drain with every press of Zayn’s lips. They continue to kiss and Harry starts to forget about their conversation until Zayn pulls back and looks at Harry with a soft gaze.

“If you want to tell them, we can, you know” he says, keeping their eyes locked.

The words make Harry freeze in midair from where he was going to chase Zayn’s lips.  

“What?” he says, freezing.

Zayn continues to look at him calmly, hands soft like his words.

“I hate seeing how upset it gets you to keep this from them, and I want them to know how much I love their son” he says, pressing a kiss to Harry’s nose, which is just as frozen as the rest of his since he’s not really breathing at the moment.

“So what I’m saying is when you want to tell them, I’ll go with you, if you want me to.” He finishes.

Harry stares at him for a moment before jumping at Zayn, kissing him as he pushes him onto his back and Zayn laughs into his mouth, Harry’s ambush amusing to him.

“I guess I said the right thing” he teases between kisses, hands running up Harry’s thighs from where Harry is straddling him, leaning down so that he can kiss Zayn.

“Yes, you definitely did.” Harry says, kissing him with every rush of happiness he can feel surge in him.

“You have no idea what it means to me” Harry says, hands starting to roam the plains of Zayn’s chest, wanting to touch him anywhere and everywhere, running over the mountains of his collarbones and the dips between the muscles of his stomach.

Zayn pulls up to kiss him, hands running up from Harry’s butt to his back, fingers dragging across his skin. “I want to make you happy, and if this is what does it, then I’m more than willing.”

Harry’s sure there’s hearts in his eyes with all the feelings crawling up his throat from his chest, burning his heart with it.

“I love you” he says, kissing Zayn hard.

Zayn answers by kissing him back equally as hard, fingers digging into his skin with pressure as he brings Harry closer, pressing their bodies together. Harry’s half hard, but he presses forward to touch their dicks together and feels that Zayn is not fully filled up yet either. He bites Zayn’s lip and Zayn moans, his hand moving to grab at Harry’s ass and starting to massage it, fingers playing with the hem of his boxers that he’s still wearing. Harry feels his prick grow harder and he ruts forward, pressing against Zayn and loving the way it makes them both moan with the feeling. Zayn’s hand dips under the waistband of Harry’s boxers and along the crack of his ass, dry finger running between his cheeks and just barely brushing against his hole, making Harry clench with the teasing.

He kisses Zayn dirty because of it, all tongue and spit and teeth, trapping a lip between his teeth just as a hand snakes it’s way to Zayn’s hair, grabbing a handful of beautiful black hair. He licks at his lip for one second before pulling Zayn’s hair and biting his lip simultaneously, hard. Zayn moans loudly at it, his hips lifting to press against Harry, their clothed dicks tenting their shorts but the feeling of Zayn’s dick against his and his finger against his hole has Harry leaking, feeling the precome wet the fabric. Harry pulls Zayn’s hair again and Zayn groans something angry before Harry lets go and starts to move down Zayn’s body, kissing and biting skin as he goes, pausing to suck on Zayn’s nipples while knowingly avoiding his cock, making him wait. Zayn’s breathing heavily now, his legs bending and hand clenching with the way Harry’s tongue flicks across his chest, Harry loving every second that he makes Zayn fall apart.

He stops sucking and starts kissing again, following the trail of dark, thick hair to the waistband of Zayn’s shorts, bringing a hand to lift the hem of them before releasing it, making it hit against Zayn with a ‘snap’ that makes Zayn suck in a breath, eyes going wide.

“You wanna play?” he asks, his voice throaty and weak from what Harry was just doing to him, and it makes Harry shiver as he leans down to nose against Zayn's cock, running the tip of it along the hard bugle and barely brushing his lips over it while lifting his eyes to stare at Zayn through his eyelashes. He knows he must look obscene, on his knees with his ass in the air and his shoulders dipping low to keep his face next to Zayn ‘s groin, shorts tenting with his hard cock pushing against it and wetting the fabric. Zayn certainly thinks so as he watches Harry, hands coming to snake into his curls and grab on.

“You want to suck my cock?” Zayn asks, pulling Harry’s hair so that Harry lifts his head to look at him properly, a groan escaping his lips.

“You want me to fuck your mouth?” he asks, and Harry feels all the blood rush straight to his dick, making it twitch with Zayn's dirty words.

Instead of answering with words, Harry answers with his hands as they move to pull at Zayn’s boxers, pulling them down to get him naked, his dick springing free once Harry gets the fabric off Zayn’s body.

He moves a hand to wrap around Zayn’s dick but Zayn pulls his hair harder, making Harry yelp at the pain.

“Did I say you can touch me?” Zayn asks.

Harry shakes his head no, not being able to find his voice.

“Answer me”’ Zayn says.

“No” Harry says after Zayn pulls harshly again.

“You can’t touch me unless I say so,” Zayn says, voice low and gravelly.

“Can I touch you?” Harry asks, loving every second of this as Zayn takes control, just the way Harry likes it.

“Say please” Zayn says.

“Please”

Zayn releases some of his grip on Harry’s hair and Harry wraps his hand fully around Zayn’s leaking dick, wanking him off.

“There’s a good boy” Zayn says, and Harry shivers at the praise.

“I want to suck you off, please” Harry asks, eyeing Zayn’s dick.

Zayn leans forward to kiss Harry dirty, tongue licking into his mouth and sucking in the breaths Harry’s pumping out.

“You can” Zayn says, and just like that Harry kisses him once before moving down, hand still on his dick but he looks up at Zayn through his eyelashes again just as he licks at the tip, teasing.

Zayn pulls his hair, hips lurching forward at the contact. Harry loves this, because no matter who is in control of whatever they’re doing, no matter how much Zayn’s dominance turns him on, nothing compares to seeing them react to each other, seeing them wreck each other with passionate touches of hands and determined flicks of tongues.

Zayn’s watching him but once Harry opens his mouth to take him in, Zayn’s eyes fall closed and his head falls back, a moan falling off his lips as Harry starts to suck him down. He’s done this a handful of times, and he’s still learning the hang of it but it’s literally Harry’s favorite thing to do because the way Zayn reacts to his tongue drives Harry mad. Like now, as Harry hollows  his cheeks and Zayn mutters a string of curses, head lifting up to watch before falling against the bed again, pulling at Harry’s hair. Harry moves his tongue along the head, between the slit and he can taste Zayn and it makes his own hips grind down. His other hand goes to pull off his own boxers until they’re both naked and he wraps a hand around himself, making him moan around Zayn’s dick and making Zayn moan also, his hips snapping forward and shoving his dick down Harry’s throat, making him gag. Zayn pulls harder as he hits the back of Harry’s throat, but Harry feel his gag reflex and he pulls back a bit, sucking at the tip to make up for not deep throating Zayn.

“Fuck, Harry” Zayn moans as Harry licks along his shaft, hand moving with his tongue before he licks his slit again, making Zayn cry out.

“I wanna fuck you so bad” he says as Harry licks him again, and Harry stops as the words sink in and rush straight to his dick that’s still in his hand, bringing him closer to the edge. He stops before he falls over, not wanting to come yet, but Zayn must think he’s done something wrong because he’s suddenly sitting up more to look at Harry, a question in his eyes.

Harry stares back before finding his voice, grabbing Zayn a little firmer as he says “then do it”. Zayn gasps at Harry’s touch, but he stills at his words, looking at him different than he was a second ago.

“Wait, what?” he asks.

“I said do it. I want you to.”

Zayn continues to look at him, so Harry leans forward to kiss him and slowly wank him again, saying lowly “fuck me, Zayn”.

He feels Zayn shiver at his words, and a hand comes to rest on his shoulder as they kiss.

“If you keep touching me I’ll come”

Harry lifts his hands to instead wrap them around Zayn’s neck and Zayn’s arms come to wrap around his waist, Hary moving to straddle Zayn.

Zayn looks up into his eyes, pushing his hair off his forehead.

“Are you sure?” he asks gently, keeping their gazes locked together.

Harry smiles down at him, cupping his cheek.

“Never been more sure” he says, leaning down to kiss him and rutting forward so that their dicks can rub together, this time naked.

Zayn leans up to meet Harry, moaning into his mouth and wrapping his arms around Harry reverently, with sweet pressure, and just kissing him unhurriedly, completely opposite of how they were a minute ago.

“Lie down on your back” Zayn tells him.

He lifts himself off of Zayn and lies down where Zayn was as Zayn moved off the bed and to his dresser, opening a drawer and coming back with a condom and a small bottle of lube.

“Prepared, are we?” teases Harry, smiling as Zayn comes back to meet him on the bed.

“I’ve got a fit, sex crazed boyfriend.” Zayn offers as explanation, which makes sense. Harry went out and bought some condoms the second week into this, already having the lube.

Harry expects Zayn to start moving toward his lower half but instead Zayn drops the bottle and wrapper on the blankets and moves to hover over Harry and kiss him. He kisses him slowly and sweetly, not a hint of dominance or command in the way he moves his lips, just letting Harry kiss him back however he likes and they both melt into it, hands roaming along taunt muscles and legs wrapping around each other. Harry feels the nerves in his stomach settle a little, not all the way, and he keens with the thought of how much Zayn is taking care of him.

“You’re so beautiful” he murmurs as his hands grab onto Zayn’s waist, thumbs rubbing across the dips in his stomach.

Zayn smiles into his kiss, nose brushing against Harry. His hand rests on the side of Harry’s neck, thumb brushing his jaw.

“You’re gorgeous, Haz. I love everything about you.” he says back, kissing his mouth.

“From your green, green eyes” he says as he kisses them after Harry closes them, “to your beautiful lips” and he kisses them, “to the way your jawline drives me mad” he says, peppering kisses along his jaw and down his neck. He starts naming everything about Harry before kissing it, from the hard muscles of his chest and abs to the soft tissue of his love handles, to each of his four nipples and all the tattoos that cover his skin.  He kisses his belly button before moving further down, skipping his hard dick and instead going to bite at the inside of Harry’s thighs, commenting on how much he loves the thick muscles there and making Harry squirm beneath him. He kisses all the way to the inside of Harry’s knees and back, finally reaching Harry’s prick.

“I’m pretty sure I love your dick most of all, though” he says before kissing the head and making Harry writhe with it.

“Zayn” Harry says, overwhelmed with how much attention Zayn is giving all his body but his dick right now.

“I love you” Zayn says, mainly to his dick, before taking Harry into his mouth and making Harry moan loudly at it.

He starts sucking Harry off, Harry making sure to keep his hands out of Zayn’s hair, and Zayn brings Harry close to the edge before Harry grabs his head and pulls him off saying “I’m really close so if you want to do this, do it now.”

Zayn smiles at him and kisses his dick again, making Harry squirm, before grabbing the lube bottle and slicking up two fingers. Harry’s not nervous about this part, he’s fingered himself before and Zayn has also too, when blowjobs were not enough.

Zayn takes him back into his mouth as he starts to circle Harry’s hole with a wet finger, teasing. Harry’s too busy making noises at Zayn’s tongue as it flicks along his shaft until Zayn pushes a finger in and Harry’s whole body twitches with the feeling. Zayn circles his finger and opens him up, soon adding another finger, all the while missing Harry’s spot on purpose. He scissors him as he sucks at Harry’s tip and Harry keeps chanting a steady string of “fuck fuck fuck, I love you, fuck fuck”, feeling Zayn's chuckle vibrate around his dick. Zayn adds a third finger and this time presses straight onto Harry’s prostate with fierce pressure, making Harry’s back arch and his hands find Zayn’s hair, forgetting his earlier determination. Zayn keeps moving his fingers and pressing that spot, moaning as Harry pulls his hair and breathes heavily, sometimes whimpering as his hips start to move and he fucks himself back on Zayn’s fingers, loving the way it makes his stomach muscles clench. He pulls at Zayn’s hair hard, telling him “Okay okay, now. I’m going to come in five seconds.”

Zayn pulls off and removes his fingers, hand reaching for the condom and handing it to Harry to open. Harry tears open the foil and rolls it onto Zayn, using some lube to wank him off a bit before Zayn pulls his hand away and moves to align them, right in front of Harry’s hole.

Harry suddenly feels his nerves jump into his throat and he closes his eyes as he counts to ten, the earlier feelings of pleasure and bliss forgotten as his thoughts race.

“Harry?” Zayn asks, cupping his face but Harry doesn’t open his eyes.

“Harry, look at me” he says, but Harry doesn’t respond, still breathing heavily as his heart races. He didn’t know he was this scared, honestly. He’s heard enough stories of it hurting to last him a lifetime, though, so it’s not all too shocking.

Zayn pinches his arm and Harry’s eyes fly open, coming into contact with Zayn’s eyes, all soft and warm brown, like soft honey.

“It’s just me, okay? It’s me, I got you” Zayn says, brushing fingers over Harry’s cheek.

Harry nods but he doesn’t say anything, still looking at Zayn.

“We don’t have to, love” Zayn says gently, still looking at him with soft eyes. “If you don’t want to do this anymore, we don’t have to.”

And Harry feels his heart jump away from the panic, his body filling with determination and love because Zayn is the best thing that’s ever happened to him and he knows he wants this. He’s wanted it and he’s not as afraid anymore, not when Zayn’s holding him like this and taking care of him.

Harry lifts a hand to Zayn’s head and says “Come here” before pulling him down, seeking his lips, the only place that seems to calm him. Zayn goes willingly, kissing Harry without a rush, knowing he needs  this right now and just being there for him in this way.

“I’m okay” Harry says after a minute of kissing, starting to feel his legs shake less as his stomach settles. “I just needed a minute.”

“I’ll be right here, okay? I’m right here with you. It’s just me, and I’m not letting go of you. Okay?” Zayn says, making sure Harry looks him in the eyes as he says it.

Harry nods but Zayn pinches him again.

“Say it. You need to say it” he says.

Harry nods again and finds his voice, saying “Okay. Together.” He says breathily as Zayn lines them up again.

“Together” Zayn repeats, hand folding itself inside of Harry’s right next to them and leaning down to kiss him just as he pushes in.

There’s pain, and Harry shakes with it but he kisses Zayn back, urging him forward with his lips. Zayn pushes gently and kisses along Harry’s face, keeping quiet even though Harry suspects he’s trying to keep back a moan. He pushes in until he’s all the way, and the pain is exploding inside Harry, making him feel like he's about to split open.

“Zayn” he whines, and it doesn’t sound sexy at all.

“I bottomed out. Do you want to stop?” Zayn asks, his arms shaking next to Harry probably from the way he’s forcing himself to keep still.

For Harry.

Harry waits a moment before shaking his head, remembering how Zayn made him talk before, saying “no, it’s okay. Move”

Zayn kisses him as he starts to move, not too much but it still sends pain all the way to Harry’s ears and Harry feels tears forming in his eyes. He feels so _full_ and he’s about to tell Zayn to stop when suddenly Zayn hits that spot inside him and Harry jerks, his whole body shaking with it.

“Woah” he says, looking up at Zayn.

Zayn smiles down at him, sweat lining his brow.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, do that again.”

So he does, moving particularly to hit that angle and before Harry knows it, his groans of pain turn into moans of pleasure, and it doesn’t hurt anymore.

“Good” he breathes, Zayn looking at him.

“Good now?”

“Yes, good. You can actually move now.”

Zayn does just that, pulling back and snapping his hips forward against Harry, building a rhythm that has them both moaning as he hits Harry’s prostate.

“You’re literally inside me” Harry says, making Zayn lose his rhythm for a moment because of his startled laugh.

“’That’s how sex works, love” he answers, kissing Harry with a smile.

Harry smiles back and wraps his arms around Zayn’s neck as Zayn wraps a hand around his hard dick and starts to pull him closer to the edge.

He realizes what they’re doing, what’s happening to them and not just the sex but the fact that Harry’s never wanted it like this, he’s never wanted to be this close to someone where they’re skin on skin but he still wants to pull Zayn closer, farther into him until Harry’s sure he’ll never get rid of the taste of him. He’s never felt this need to touch every part of someone, from their skin to their heart, and have them do the same to him.

He never thought he’d ever want someone the way he wants Zayn, everyday. He wants his laugh and his kisses and his warmth, everyday. He’s never loved like this, at all really, and it scares him so much but it makes him feel free, because he knows Zayn will catch him. Everyday, Harry falls more but Zayn’s there to catch him, like right now, how he’s taking care of Harry, kissing his forehead between thrusts and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, making love to him.

He’s never been brave enough to ask for someone like Zayn, but that doesn’t matter now because Zayn’s got him, like he said earlier and it’s more than Harry could ever ask for.

“I love you” Harry says, tears forming in his eyes not from pain, but from how big his heart is getting with the way it tries to fit Zayn inside of it, feeling like his chest si almost bursting and ribs almost breaking with how much love Harry has for this boy.

Zayn’s hand comes to wipe at his eye, looking at him fondly as he keeps moving inside of him.

“I love you” he says back, and he wanks Harry off faster and moves inside of him with more force, matching the rhythm of his hand.

“I’m gonna come” Harry says, toes curling and his hips moving to meet Zayn’s thrusts.

“Come for me, baby” Zayn says, his hand still working Harry furiously and Harry’s orgasm crashing into him like a train, exploding inside of him and sending heat and pleasure to every inch of his body, legs shaking and hands fisting as he shuts his eyes against the waves.

He moans Zayn’s name and he feels himself clench around Zayn, making Zayn follow him right after and come inside of him, dick twitching as he fills up the condom.

They’re both breathing heavily, Zayn resting on top of Harry as Harry comes to again, his whole body tired and feeling boneless.

After a minute, Zayn moves to pull his soft dick out but Harry’s legs wrap around his waist and tug him closer.

“Stay in me” he says, petting Zayn’s hair off his face.

Zayn blinks at him once before nodding and leaning down to kiss him, arms on either side of Harry.

“That” Harry starts, feeling the tiredness overrun him, “was the best thing I’ve ever experienced.”

Zayn chuckles at him, kissing him with happiness.

“Really now?” he asks, a knowing tone in his voice.

“Don’t get cocky” Harry says with a smile, eyes closed.

He feels a hand push at his curls above his head and opens his eyes to look at Zayn, who’s gone serious.

“I love you with everything I have. I want you to always remember that” Zayn says, all his edges fading away and letting his softness fumble over as he hovers over Harry, watching him.

Harry’s hand wraps around the side of his neck, his fingers scratching the hair where it ends. He feels that feeling from before, when he started crying and he feels his chest become tight like his heart is trying to open up and pull Zayn in it, where he belongs.

“I won’t forget.” Harry says back, pulling Zayn down for a kiss he feels all the way down to his toes. “You’re everything to me.”

Later, when they go to sleep that night, with Zayn flush against his beck and their legs interwoven, Harry realizes Zayn never said anything about meeting his family.

Harry goes to sleep with the thought running in his dreams.

                                        

                                                                                    ~~

Jace somehow manages to buy a car- his uncle knew a guy- and so they all decide to take a road trip to go camping for the weekend because the term is ending soon and that means they’ll all be swamped with study sessions and trips to the library, so they decided why not take a mini vacation before everything becomes chaotic.

The drive’s not bad, and when they reach the campsite they all disperse into their jobs. Liam is on tent duty while Zayn, Harry and Niall all clear the pinecones from the ground and gather firewood from around them; Louis and Jace drive off to the store really quick to grab some food and liquor for the evening.

Once everything is set up and they’re all grounded- thanks Liam-, they head out to the beach, which is not too far away. There’s people out there, including a group of boys not too far from them, tossing around a ball in pastel colored shorts. The lot of them unload their blankets and start playing some games, like volleyball.

Harry loves volleyball. He’s not amazing at it, but man does he love volleyball.

But he can’t find in himself to concentrate enough to play as he’s distracted by Zayn’s beautiful brown skin and the way his tattoos look when the sun hits them, so really it’s not his fault when he misses the ball for the third time in a row. It’s really not, especially with the way Zayn keeps smirking at him and spiking the ball, gaining a point for his team and making Liam glare at him (playfully, of course).

“We should probably head back soon. I’m starving” Louis says after they score the last and winning point of the game.

“I second that” says Niall, who is currently trying and failing to get all the sand out of his hair from when he dove to get that last shot.

The other boys agree, and Zayn comes to stand beside Harry and slips an arm around his waist, like he always does. Harry melts into it, warm from the licks of golden sun rays on his skin and from the heat of his boy next to him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just get hot dogs” says Zayn, looking straight at Louis, who raises an eyebrow to Zayn.

“I don’t eat pork, Lou. You know that” Zayn says as he wraps his other arm around Harry, hooking his chin over his shoulder to stare at Louis.

Louis’s look has become somewhat of a glare.

“I’ve been best friends with you since we were twelve and you really think I suddenly blanked on the fact that you’re Muslim? Thanks, mate. Feeling the love.”

Zayn’s never really mentioned that before.

What’s also interesting is the fact that when Louis said that, Zayn let go of Harry and backed away, leaving a gap.

He felt Zayn freeze but now Zayn’s walking toward Louis, his back to Harry so that Harry can’t see his face but Harry knows those shoulders better than his own, and  he can see the lines of tension on them.

“Relax, I was just checking” Zayn says, as he reaches Louis’s side, but when he turns around he shines a smile that Louis glares at for a minute before breaking into a smirk.

“I, on the other hand, did manage to get some whiskey though.”

Zayn shows disgust in the way he gags and shakes his head.

“I hate whiskey.”

“See _that_ , I’ll always remember.”

“I like whiskey” says Liam, as he gets up from where he was gathering their stuff and starts making his way toward the tents, the others following along.

“Me too” agrees Jace.

“I like beer” says Niall, walking beside Harry  as Harry studies Louis who keeps looking at Zayn and pokes at him, softly.

“Good thing we bought some of that too” Jace says as they walk over twigs and leaves, footsteps crunching as they go.

“Ayyyyy, my boys looking after me” Niall says smiling at Harry but Harry’s too busy thinking about the Muslim part of Zayn’s life that he happened to leave out.

Zayn’s never mentioned it, and Harry’s never seen him pray or attend, what is it, church?

_It’s not church, Harry, obviously_.

He honestly wouldn’t even have guessed Zayn was religious, but it does actually make sense with the way Zayn talks about life sometimes.

But something else jumps into his mind and it makes him feel strange.

Why didn’t he just tell Harry?

Niall bumps into him with his arm, knocking Harry out of his thoughts.

“You alright?” he asks, giving him a weird look.

Harry sees Zayn look at them from the corner of his eye, but he smiles at Niall and shrugs.

“Yeah, just lost in my mind. Happens a lot.” he replies. He knows Zayn will have caught on as to what Harry was thinking about, but he can’t really deal with that right now.

“Need a mind in order to get lost in it.” Louis teases, sending him a big grin and Harry flips him off with love.

They get back to the camp site and start on a fire before cooking hotdogs and chicken, passing around beers.

Harry had two hot dogs, but somehow Louis managed to convince him to take four shots and some beer and now he’s pretty sure he’s a little drunk.

“Hey babe” he says as he flops down on Zayn who is sitting on a log, almost knocking them both over with the force of his weight.

Maybe more than a little drunk.

“Hi love” Zayn says around a laugh, adjusting so he can hold Harry and his beer at the same time. “How you feeling?”

“I’m great.” Harry says, giggling for no reason. “I’m really great, how about you? You good?”

Zayn’s looking at him with glossy eyes, the alcohol he’s been drinking showing but he’s collected and calm, very unlike Harry who’s fallen three time already and keeps giggling for no reason.

“I’m great, babe” Zayn says, a hand running up Harry’s back, pressing in his fingers along the muscles he finds. “You seem to be spectacular at the moment.”

“I’m always spectacular. I am amazing” Harry says back, enunciating every word and wagging his eyebrows.

“That you are” Zayn says back, amused.

“You know what’s also amazing? That you’re Muslim” Harry says with a smile, tone light.

But still Zayn tenses, looking up at Harry with a set of different, shielded eyes. He doesn’t say anything so Harry goes on.

“It’s so amazing, really. I mean, I’ve always wanted to know about Islam and how it works as a religion, and now I’ve got a boyfriend who’s Muslim so” he says, shrugging and taking another sip of his drink that lost its taste a while ago. “There’s that.”

Zayn’s eyes are searching him. He clears his throat before speaking.

“I suppose. It’s really not that big of a deal” Zayn says in a low voice, slight panic at the end.

“Not a big deal?” Harry counters, forced playfulness in his voice.  “It’s _great_. You have this whole culture about you” Harry says as he smiles a little too sweetly.

Zayn’s hands are shaking as they hold Harry, and he’s not meeting Harry’s eye.

“You’re mad” Zayn says, voice gentle.

Harry laughs, body a little high strung from the way Zayn’s tense feelings are seeping into his joints, coursing through his blood.

“Mad? Of course not. I’m not mad, I’m great! No, I’m amazing. I’m amazing, remember?” he says, moving to straddle Zayn and throw his arms around Zayn’s neck, looking down with a smile.

“Mmmm” Zayn hums, swallowing as Harry leans down to kiss him, slipping his tongue into Zayn’s mouth without hesitance. Zayn kisses him back but not nearly with as much enthusiasm, body still coiled like a spring as he pulls away before Harry, who looks a little annoyed with the lack of lips against his.

“Harry, we’re in public” Zayn says when Harry rolls his hips, pressing against Zayn.

“Mmmm, don’t care” he says against Zayn’s lips, grinding down a little more.

“Harry” Zayn warns, moving to grab his hips and stop them. “Not right now.”

“But I want right now” Harry argues, moving to kiss Zayn again but Zayn turns his head.

“Wait like an hour, babe, and we’ll go back to the tent.”

“I don’t want to wait an hour.”

“Harry, you’re acting like a brat.” he says with some irritation.

“Oh really,” he says, tilting his head in a sassy manner, “am I the one lying to his boyfriend?” Harry says back, instantly regretting the words.

He sees the way Zayn lose any warmth he barely had as he shifts cold and rigid, placing a barrier between them.

He sighs, placing his hands under Harry’s thighs to lift him as he stands. He places Harry down before walking away toward the cooler and car.

Harry watches him walk away and he feels red anger swarm his thoughts. He’s drunk and he wants his boyfriend who doesn’t want him at the moment, so he goes to sit by Louis instead who’s drunkenly watching the fire crack and fire little sparks that land in the sand.

He flops down next to Louis and leans his head on Louis’s shoulder, the other boy putting a loose arm around him.

“You alright, H?” he asks, eyes still on the fire.

“Amazing” Harry answers, lifting his eyes to see Zayn across from them and by the car, watching them but talking to Niall who’s sitting on the trunk and gently strumming his guitar.

Louis chuckles, pulling him a little closer.

“I told you to be patient with him. He’s a shit when he wants to be.”

Harry looks down at his hands, his head feeling heavier than normal as he feels his chin move toward his chest.

“I didn’t know he was Muslim” Harry mutters, not looking at Louis.

“Not surprising” Louis says.

“What?” Harry lifts his very heavy head and it falls to the side, looking at Louis from a weird angle.

“Zayn’s a private person” he says, eyes lifting as a new wave of smoke flows up toward the sky.

“I knew _that_. I- I just thought that, I don’t know” Harry says, feeling a blush creep onto his cheeks. “Thought I was different, is all.”

He feels Louis sigh, and it makes Harry blush harder.

“You are different. Just give him some time, he’ll come around.”

Harry wants to say something about how much time he’s already given Zayn, but he opts to stay quiet and watch the flames with Louis, feeling fatigue settle in.

He’s about to say he’s going to turn in for the night when three guys walk by their camp, and Harry recognize them from some of the boys who were next to them on the beach earlier. He turns away, dismissing them but suddenly three things happen at once.

First, one of the guys walking takes a look at Louis and Harry and says “faggots”, not exactly to them but loud enough to hear. Second, Harry sees Niall put down his guitar. And third, Harry sees Zayn stand up straighter and turn toward the guys.

“Excuse me?” Zayn says, turning to face the guys.

The guys don’t seem to hear him, or are ignoring him, and they keep walking, even though one of the guys- the same one as before, Harry realizes- turns to look at Harry and Louis again, who are now sitting stiff and trying to ignore them.

“Let it go, Zayn” Niall says, walking forward and placing a hand on Zayn’s shoulder, which seems to be more restricting than comforting to Harry.

There’s a pause where Harry thinks Zayn’s going to break, run after the three guys and do something stupid but instead he merely looks for a second more before turning toward Niall and nodding, back still tense and jawline hard.

That is, until all of them hear a voice in the darkness.

“Fucking faggots.”

And Zayn’s gone.

Harry feels all the alcohol fade away, like a slap of cold water to his face, and he gets up in time to see Niall and Liam running after Zayn, Louis still next to him.

And that’s when he sees Zayn jump on the guy who was watching Harry and Louis, taking him down with the force of his body colliding against him, and landing on top of him, fist raising in the air.

“Zayn stop!” Niall yells, but Harry sees his fist shoot forward and he knows it’s too late.

Before Zayn can land another punch, the other two blokes grab Zayn off their friend, and one holds him while the other lands punches to Zayn’s gut, hard.

Harry wants to throw up.

Before he can, he sees Liam and Niall finally reach them as Louis grabs onto Harry’s waist from behind him, holding him from running forward like he was about to do.

“What the fuck, Lou, let me go!” he yells, trying to pull away from Louis’s grip but Louis holds on tighter and digs his feet into the ground.

“Jace!” Louis yells, keeping his arm tight around Harry’s flailing form, “Jace, help!”

Jace had looked like he was ready to sprint until he heard Louis, facing them and seeing Louis struggle with Harry. He runs over to Louis, whose grip is about to slip from Harry seeing as how he’s bigger. Jace, on the other hand, is taller and bigger so he grabs him around the waist and pulls him back against him.

“Let me the fuck go!” Harry shouts, trying and failing to get out of Jace’s grip.

“Harry, Harry, stop fighting. You getting in there is not going to help anything” Louis says, trying to put hands on Harry’s shoulders but Harry’s moving too much.

“Let me go! Zayn-” Harry says again, but he knows he’s not getting loose anytime soon.

“Zayn has Liam and Niall.”

A yell pierces the air then, and Harry’s head snaps up and his eyes move back to the fight. He sees Liam has given one of them a bloody nose that the guy holds with his hand, the other he has fisted and raised in defense. Niall’s guy is on the ground clutching his side, and Niall’s up but he’s not putting weight on his right leg, limping as he stands above the guy.

And Zayn is on top of the guy who insulted them, punching him, and it makes Harry’s blood go cold.

“Zayn!” Harry yells just as Zayn raises his fist again.

At the sound of his voice, Zayn’s fist stops in the air and his body tenses in a different way than it was before.

“Zayn, stop!” Harry yells, and he watches as Zayn looks at the guy. He’s going to yell again but Zayn pauses for another second before putting down his fist and standing, leaning down close to the guy before getting up and walking toward Liam, standing next to him.

He says something low enough that Harry can’t hear it, and he sees the guy back away, still clutching his nose and walking toward the one Zayn was just fighting.

The guy on the ground rolls away from Niall, who is standing normally again, and he gets up and limps over to his two friends, and within a minute they’re gone from their campsite.

Once they’re gone, Harry moves in Jace’s arms and Jace lets go, letting Harry take off toward the group. He’s running until he reaches Zayn and he stops enough to latch onto Zayn, hugging him hard and burying his face into Zayn’s neck before pulling back and pushing him.

“What the hell?!” he yells, and Zayn looks away from him but his body is still tense.

“Harry” Niall says, like a warning, but now Harry’s angry.

“Are you insane?” Harry says, voice exasperated and body shaking but still looking at Zayn, who is still not looking at him.

“Zayn, answer me. What the hell was that?”

“He called you guys faggots” Zayn says, voice hard and dark.

“So you fight them?!” Harry asks, wanting to reach out and slap Zayn.

“Harry, stop” Niall says, walking forward to grab Harry but Harry moves away.

“Don’t touch me” he says harshly, and he sees Niall flinch but back away obediently.

“Harry, calm down” Zayn says, and it makes Harry angrier.

“You tried to fight three guys and you want me to calm down. Me. When you’re the one trying to bloody kill yourself” he says, eyes furiously glancing at Zayn.

“I wasn’t trying to kill myself!” Zayn starts to yell “I wasn’t going to allow him to say that and just walk away! He called you a faggot!”

“So!?” Harry yells back, moving forward as if to grab Zayn but deciding against it at the last second. “It’s just a word Zayn, you can’t go around fighting people!”

Zayn sighs but none of the tension in his body leaves with the breath, instead he stares at Harry and says nothing.

“What would you have done if Niall and Liam weren’t there?” Harry questions.

“I would have fought them alone.” Zayn spits, anger finally breaking through.

“You’re fucking insane” Harry says back, staring at those brown eyes that keep him warm but all of sudden have made him freezing cold in their stare.

They don’t say anything else and that’s when Harry feels a hand on his arm, turning to see Liam looking at him cautiously and Niall already back at the campsite, picking up beer cans.

“Harry, let’s go” Liam says, pulling on his arm.

“What?” Harry questions.

“You both need some space. C’mon, let’s go” he says, pulling Harry with him and away from Zayn, who’s turned around and looking away from them.

Harry wants to fight against Liam but he’s aware Liam’s only trying to help, so he goes but keeps looking back at Zayn, who keeps looking away.

“What’s going on?” Harry asks, watching as Niall, Louis and Jace all start picking things up and packing their mugs and utensils into their bags. They’re moving fast, and it makes Harry panicky.

“Niall heard one of the guys say something about coming back later, so we have to pack up and go” Liam says before he walks away to start dismantling the tent, leaving Harry to watch in silence.

He watches them all until his gaze lands on his best friend, who is trying and failing to roll up the sleeping bags. He goes over to Niall and moves warily in front to help, but he’s not sure if Niall’s wants him around.

“Need some help?” he asks, voice quiet.

Niall looks up at him and nods, and Harry leans down to help him roll them up.

They clean up the entire site, and the entire time Zayn doesn’t help, standing watch just in case.

When everything is packed and their car is loaded, they all fold into the seats, Jace driving since he never drinks although at this point they’re all sober for the most part, and Zayn sits in the passenger seat, leaving Harry to sit in the back with Niall and Louis.

The car is quiet the entire trip back to campus.

When Jace parks by their building, they all get out and follow Niall up the stairs, through the door and into the living room. Harry goes straight to his room, hitting the door with his shoe in order to slam it shut, but the door hits something before it closes. He knows before he looks up what’s in his doorway, and he’s not in the mood to deal with this.

“Harry” Zayn says behind him, and it makes his skin crawl with anger.

“Go away Zayn” he says, putting his stuff down by his bed and going to toe off his shoes, making sure to keep his eyes away from Zayn.

He hears Zayn sigh and it makes his stomach churn.

“Harry, please” Zayn says quietly, and it sounds like a plea. It’s almost enough to make Harry break his stubborness. Almost.

“You should leave. I don’t want to talk right now” Harry says, pinching the bridge of his nose to calm himself.

“I don’t want to leave with us fighting” he says, tone still soft, but Harry feels him move closer toward him until a hand is pressed against the small of his back and he feels a break in his heart, something like a whimper but also a sob falling off his lips as his frustration and exhaustion spill over at the same time and he feels like he’s going to cry just as Zayn gathers him in his arms and kisses his head.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry” Zayn says against his skin, and it makes Harry actually cry because he just doesn’t understand.

He feels himself melt into Zayn’s arms but he can’t this time. It’s not enough.

“No” he says, pushing Zayn and the comfort of his arms away from him, walking across the room.

Zayn watches him go, arms still open from where he was holding Harry.

“No, Zayn.” he says, but he’s not exactly sure what he’s saying no to. No to Zayn, trying to push this away with an “I’m sorry”; no to himself, that he doesn’t just let it go; no to the universe, for being fucked up.

Just no.

“I try” Harry starts, a sigh bubbling in his chest; he’s been sighing a lot lately but he’s tired from it.

“I try to understand, I really do, why you are like this” he says, feeling tears in his voice but plummeting through them. “I get it that your parents aren’t here anymore and you had to grow up faster than others, and that you want to live life to the fucking fullest or whatever bullshit you find on bloody signs at convenience stores, but I can’t Zayn I really can’t.”

He looks down at his feet, which don’t feel so threatening to look at.

“You’re so willing to throw yourself into these situations” he says, wiping his eyes with his sleeve and finally turning to look at Zayn, who’s looking at him with wired eyes.

“They called you a faggot” he says simply, jaw clenching as he said the last word. “I wasn’t going to let some shithead call you something like that, or Louis for that matter.”

“So you fight?” Harry fires back, anger overwhelming his sadness, creating a whirlpool of emotions that he’s not sure what he’ll end up next.

“Yes, I would fight for you. I did fight for you, for Louis, for anyone I care about. It’s not an unheard of notion” Zayn snaps, his own emotions bleeding through.

“Do not sass me right now” Harry snaps back. “I’m trying to talk with you even though I’m furious, so don’t do that.”

“Why are you so furious that I fought?” Zayn asks, raising his voice. “Why is it such a bad thing to you?”

“Because look at what happened. We all wanted a lovely weekend before finals and shit and you went ahead and ruined that” Harry answers, “and you’re always so eager to throw yourself into situations like this, and it bloody angers me!”

“Why?!” Zayn yells back.

“Because I fucking love you!” Harry almost screams, fists curdled and his chest tight, making it harder to breathe. “And I’m sorry that because of that, I want to keep you around, I want you safe, I want you happy.” Zayn’s staring at him like he wants Harry to stop but Harry keeps talking. “It makes me want so many things, like I want to get to know you better, I want you to let me _in_ , but you can’t even do that.”

The silence that follows is deafening, and Harry has no idea how Zayn is digesting his words. Because he’s made no move, toward or away from Harry, he just stands there and looks at Harry with a blank expression and it makes Harry ache.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Muslim?” Harry asks, letting the dam break inside and allowing all his questions and thoughts to flow into the light of their conversation.

He sees Zayn swallow and bite his lip, still eyeing Harry.

“Why does it matter?”

Harry actually sighs this time.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I don’t know” Zayn answers, walking forward but stopping again, like there’s this tug of war between them and Harry’s not sure who is pulling and who is pushing anymore.

“Zayn” Harry sighs, because he knows Zayn is still hiding something from him “Please.”

“It’s not that simple” Zayn says, and it stabs at Harry.

“Why can’t you tell me?” he asks sadly.

“It’s- I, I mean” Zayn starts as he begins to pace a little, back and forth in Harry’s room.

“It’s not that simple” he finishes, looking torn.

It makes Harry ache more.

“What could be more simple than telling someone your religion. We’ve been together for almost three months, and during this entire time you couldn’t fit it in there?” Harry asks, voice changing with his emotions. “ _Hey, good morning, I’m Muslim. Want some tea?_ Why are you making it some big secret?”

“Harry, let it go.”

“Do you think I’d hate you for it?”

“What? No-”

“Then what, you think I’d break up with you or something? Like a racist asshole?”

“Fucking hell, no Harry. Of course I don’t think that.”

“Then why?” asks Harry, feeling the insecurities that were scratching at him fade with irritation.

Zayn sighs at him, scratching at where his forehead meets his hairline.

“Harry, please let it go.”

“No, I’m tired of letting it go. I want to know.”

“I’m serious, stop.”

“Tell me or get out.”

Zayn pauses at his words, and so does Harry, because he never imagined telling Zayn something like that.

“Seriously?” Zayn asks, eyeing Harry in shock.

Harry ponders it for a second before nodding, standing firm.

“I’m not joking. I’m tired of these secrets and of trying to understand but you won’t let me. So either tell me or get out of my room because I am tired, it’s been a long night, and I want to go to bed.” Harry says with more confidence than he feels.

He sees Zayn run a hand through his hair, pulling on the ends, and Harry’s sure he’s not using it in the way they normally do.

“You can’t force me to tell you. That’s not fair” Zayn argues, clawing for anything.

But Harry doesn’t relent.

“I’m not. I’m giving you the choice to either tell me and stay or leave because I’m seconds away from having an episode and it’s past fucking midnight and we’re still arguing in my goddam room!” Harry yells, shooting his words with all the anger he feels.

“Because you’re being unreasonable!” Zayn yells back, and suddenly they’re having a shouting match again.

“I’m done arguing with you about this. Either talk or go, Zayn. Talk or go.” he ends softly and then Zayn’s scratching at his scalp again in irritation.

“Fine, fine. You wanna know why I don’t talk about my religion?” he asks, hands in his hair.

Harry nods once, firm.

“I don’t because then it means I have to face the idea of coming out to my family, and it scares me.”

Harry looks at him in bewilderment.

“It scares me too?” Harry says “But I’m willing to do it? To talk about it with you at least. What does that have to do with not telling me?”

“Because you don’t suspect that your family will fucking disown you, though, do you?” Zayn asks angrily.  

It makes Harry take a step back.

“You do?” Harry asks back, tone falling softer as the words sink into new thoughts bouncing in his mind.

Zayn looks away from him, toward the bed and the window above it, where the blinds are open and the pitch black sky can be seen, lights from other buildings flashing back to them like a lighthouse in the chaotic darkness of this argument.

“I don’t know. Islam isn’t exactly welcoming to gays” Zayn says, “and I doubt my grandparents would have open arms waiting for me if they found out. It’s not something I like to think about.”

“So what, you’re just never going to tell them?” Harry asks, sounding ridiculous to his own ears.

That is, until Zayn doesn’t respond, and the dread starts to fill Harry’s whole body as he realizes that what he just said is the truth.

“You’re never going to tell them” Harry says, still staring at Zayn but when Zayn looks back at him and he doesn’t respond, the silence is the loudest answer Harry has ever heard.

“You understand how that sounds right?” Harry asks, searching Zayn’s face for anything, a twitch or a sign or _something_ , something that’ll assure him that’s not what Zayn is saying.

“You don’t understand” Zayn says.

Harry sees red.

“Then fucking tell me! That’s all I’ve been asking, no begging you to do for the past hour, the past three months, bleeding Christ. Just fucking tell me!” he says with a raised tone again, seconds away from pulling his hair out of his head with all the frustration Zayn makes him feel.

“They’re my family, Harry!” Zayn booms, arms spreading wide and eyes looking fiercer than Harry’s ever seen them. “They’re all I have and I’m all they have! I don’t have anything else but my education and my family and if I tell my granddad that I’m gay it could bloody well be the last thing I ever say to him!”

“But you don’t know that. You’re acting like this is a sure thing, that they’ll honestly get rid of you but Zayn, you’re their blood. They’ve already lost your parents, they can’t lose you too.”

But Zayn’s shaking his head and backing away from Harry, hands coming to rest on his head, like he’s trying to hold himself together.

“I can’t risk that. I can’t risk losing them. I’m all my sisters have once my grandparents go. I can’t do that to them.”

“You don’t know that you’ll lose them, Zayn” Harry says, taking a step forward, trying to reach out to him but Zayn’s backing away, a war of pushing and pulling between like waves in a storm.

“I can’t do that to them, I can’t take away their brother and grandson, not after I’ve already taken away my parents” Zayn says, his words leaving gaping holes in Harry’s chest. They make him want to cry from how utterly fucked up this situation is.

“You did not kill your parents, Zayn.” Harry says slowly, keeping their eyes locked, trying to make Zayn see his honesty. “It was not your fault.”

Zayn laughs a horribly humorless laugh, eyes somewhat manic.

“Yes it is” he says, no humor in his tone “and I’m not going to hurt them anymore.”

Harry starts to shake his head, not knowing how to deal with this, how to try to piece back together this broken Zayn now that he’s made him fall apart.

“Are you happy now? I finally talked and look where that got us” Zayn says, standing still and speaking normally again as he takes in Harry’s nervous state.

“Yes” Harry answers, face red and eyes watery, but it sounds weak to his own ears.

Zayn sees right through him.

“Now you know, now you understand. I can’t hurt my family anymore, not after everything.” He says as his voice breaks, his whole body shaking.

Harry goes to him, putting his arms around him and hugging him close, keeping their faces close together, trying to keep _them_ together, it feels like.

“It’s not your fault, Zayn. It’s not your fault” Harry starts to whisper, this situation making everything tight, from his tone to his chest to his lungs to his grip where he’s clutching at Zayn.

“Yes it is” Zayn says as he starts to cry too, forehead against Harry’s.

“It’s not, it’s not” he says softly, both their breathing sounding sporadic. “You deserve to be happy too.”

“They won’t accept me, Harry. They wouldn’t be my family anymore.” Zayn says in a tone that breaks everything Harry tried to piece back together after the first time Zayn opened up to him and started shaking everything he thought he knew, until it started falling apart around him.

“You won’t know unless you try. Maybe if they saw how happy you are-“

“It will never be enough.”

And with three words, Harry feels the past couple months crumble away. Because with those three words, Zayn said everything he needed to say and Harry hears it loud and clear.

_You will never be enough_.

It makes Harry step away and let go of Zayn, holding onto himself instead as he puts as much space between them that he can. When Harry meets Zayn’s eyes, there’s only pain between them.

“So you’re just going to hide your whole life then? Pretend you're straight for family reunions and when you visit them on the weekends, leaving me or your husband or this fundamental part of who you are back home, so that your family can go on never really knowing the real you?” Harry asks, not caring how the words sound anymore because he can’t find enough emotions inside him to find a reason to care.

Zayn flinches back from his words, and Harry’s body reacts like a reflex, reaching out to comfort him but suddenly his hands drop aimlessly back to his side, like nothing at all.

“Harry” Zayn says through gritted teeth, eyes closed and breathing harsh.

“I can’t do this” Harry says quietly, and he feels his heart break with each syllable.

Zayn’s eyes pop open at his words, and he looks at Harry with something Harry recognizes as fear but he doesn’t find the willpower to try to understand anymore.

“What?” Zayn asks, frozen in place.

And Harry feels the last string that’s holding him together start to strain, stretching until it can’t possibly hold anymore as he realizes the truth.

“I can’t be with you” he says.

And Zayn moves quickly to stand in front of him, trying to get his eyes.

“Don’t do this” he says, eyes frantic and worried as they look into Harry’s, but Harry’s sure his don’t mirror anything in Zayn’s.

Harry’s already shaking his head.

“I’m not enough for you to try to come out because you think you’ll lose your family, and I- I can’t ask you to risk it. But I can’t keep pretending Zayn. I’ve done it my whole life. I don’t want to anymore. I can’t pretend this doesn’t mean as much to me as it does, because it’s everything.”

Harry feels his voice quiver with the pain he’s feeling beat in his chest, feeling close to where his heart should be. Zayn lifts his hand to Harry’s face and gently cups his cheek, his eyes scared and panicked, just like a moment before.

“I don’t want you to pretend. But we’ll figure something out. We can, I know we can. Don’t give up on me, on us.” Zayn pleads, his other hand resting on Harry’s waist.

Harry feels the seams holding him together pull apart and the string between them thin out , because Zayn wants part of him, of them, but not all of it, not in the way Harry does. And it’s not enough, for either one of them when they’re on different pages on a book, different sides of this story that are too far apart to try to mend, and it claws at Harry’s insides as he sees the only thing that’s ever made him this happy stare right back at him.

“I can’t Zayn,” Harry whispers, feeling tears fall from his eyes “I can’t. You don’t see a future with me when I was pretty sure you were my future.”

Zayn’s blinking rapidly, wetness forming in his eyes.

“Harry” he says, but it sounds like a cry as he leans to press their foreheads together, both of them shaking at the soft press of skin.

“I love you too much to hide this. I want to show the entire world what I found, but that’s not what you want.”

“I just want you” Zayn says, eyes wet but his tone is stronger than before, more serious. “You’re all I want, all I’ll ever want and ever wanted”

“That’s not true.” Harry says, shaking his head and stepping away from Zayn, his touches, his warmth. "I chose you, day after day. Every morning when I made you tea and every night when I kissed you goodnight... I chose to try every time you chose to not. It was always me running after you, and you ran away from me every time. You've chosen multiple times that I'm not worth the fight and I'm tired of trying to change your mind. I shouldn’t have to."

And Zayn steps toward him but Harry lifts his arms, keeping Zayn away. It makes Zayn’s face fall as he stops some steps away.

"But I came back.” He argues, speaking fast. “I was scared but I came back every time. I chose you every time, too. I'm choosing you now."

Harry smiles a sad smile at him, eyes brimming with more tears that he’s surprised at because he thought he would surely be cried out by now.

“No you’re not” he says slowly, tone defeated. “You’re trying to keep me and this lie all at once, to keep both and that’s not choosing. And I can’t do that. I thought this” and he motions between them” was enough for us, and it was for me, to try. But it’s not for you because you won’t choose me. It will never be me. And I can’t even be mad at you for it.”

Harry looks away then, biting his lips as he feels the hole in his chest start to grow, spreading like it’s going to consume him all.

“You were always my choice, but I'm choosing to let go now, Zayn. I'm asking you to let me go."

Zayn walks up to him now, grabbing at his shirt and fisting it in his hand, pulling him close enough that Harry can count the moles on his face, could nuzzle against the stubble on his cheeks and chin, can see the dark fleck in Zayn’s eye against the honey of his irises. He can see everything he’s losing clearly, but it’s too much for him so he closes his eyes.

Harry can feel Zayn shaking through his own trembles.

“I don’t want to let you go.” he whispers, soft breath brushing against Harry’s face and making his knees weak.  “I don't want you to be a thought- a memory. It was suppose to be me and you in the end, remember?”

Harry shakes his head, brushing his nose against Zayn’s with the motion.

“It’s not.”

Harry feels the finality in his words.

“You want me to act like it doesn’t matter, but I don’t want half of you, Zayn. Not some side of you before you go back to your family and be the “real” you.”

“I’m the real me when I’m with you” Zayn says quietly and he’s crying too, holding Harry tighter, Harry’s own hand coming to rest on top of Zayn’s where it settled on his cheek.

“I want to believe that. But I can’t.” He says, opening his eyes. “I need you to leave, Zayn.”

Zayn starts to shake his head no, clutching Harry closer.

“No, this can’t be it.” Zayn says, leaning forward to kiss Harry’s head, his cheeks and his lips, and Harry wants him to kiss this whole situation away until it’s just the two of them trapped in their own little safe haven.

But he can’t. And it’s time for Zayn to go.

“I’ll always love you” Harry says, and Zayn shakes harder at his words.

“Stop saying bye to me” Zayn says back, kissing Harry again.

“I have to.” Harry says, looking at Zayn and realizing he’ll never get this again, he’ll never be able to get as close to Zayn as he feels in this moment, where he can see the light brown mole on the side of his nose, one of Harry’s favorite places to kiss. He’ll never get this again and Harry starts to cry more.

“I need you to leave now, Zayn.”

“But I love you.” Zayn tries, like a last defense against this but it sounds more like a surrender than a strategy, like an apology for all the things he wants to give Harry but can’t, and Harry needs him gone now.

“Please go” Harry says.

Zayn pulls him in until every part of them is touching, wrapping into each other and breathing the other in, like they’re trying to commit everything to memory as he wraps his arms around Harry. Then Zayn pulls back, looking at Harry with pain-wrecked eyes before he kisses his cheek once, lingering for just a moment before pulling away and walking out of the room, closing the door without a second glance behind.

As soon as Harry hears the door click shut, he falls to his knees on his floor and allows himself to be broken, welcoming the pain as he wills himself to sleep it away.

 

 

~~

 

Break-ups are hard. Harry knew that. He’s seen it with friends, experienced it once before, seen how his sister cried herself to sleep for a month after she broke up with that one bloke back when Harry was sixteen. He knows it’s all difficult and achy and you don’t really want to eat or do much besides sleep or stare at the ceiling, but he saw everyone move on. He saw them all heal and move forward, and he was sure he would too.

But Harry didn’t understand the ache, the way it constantly beats with his heart, sending a new wave of misery with each passing second he’s awake. He didn’t understand the way his stomach wouldn’t be able to keep anything down, churning and tossing as it was too full of nerves to digest anything other than his sorrow; he didn’t understand that his lungs were too tainted with the scent of nicotine and cinnamon burned into them to actually breathe air that doesn’t have a fraction of Zayn in it. He knew love hurt, but Zayn always kissed like heaven, and now his absence just burns like hell.

Harry didn’t understand.

He wakes up to that blissful moment in the morning where he doesn’t remember anything, a moment of pure innocence and peace that comes crashing down in burning flames a second later when he feels cold sheets beside him and no trace of Zayn in his room. He spends his days trying to keep himself distracted and putting on a closed front, trying to act in a determined manner and go to class and try to pretend like everything is okay, but he barely has his pants on most times when a memory or a smell or a rogue thought blindsides him and it’s like waking up all over again, the tumbling of his defenses all over again.

 

He’s barely seen Niall or Liam, let alone Louis or Jace, since then, and he knows he should actually eat something or brush his teeth but it all feels like it’s in vain so he stays in his room despite Niall and Liam’s numerous calls or texts or times they knock on his door, trying to get him to come out.

 

That is why a couple days, two calls and four texts later, Harry finds himself sitting in his kitchen with Louis staring at him from across the counter, each with a mug in front of them.

 

Jace had given Niall a ride from class since his leg had been hurting, and Niall invited them both inside. It’s the first time he’s seen them since the camping trip, since the break up, and it’s weird seeing them without Zayn tagging along in the background, or in shadows next to Harry. Niall had apparently decided that Louis was his secret weapon and last stance because all the boy did was pop his head into Harry’s room and said “Kitchen. Now.” and now Harry’s sitting in his kitchen with clothes on and drinking tea, and there’s _sunlight_ streaming in and _birds_ chirping and it’s making his head start to ache. He can hear Jace, Liam and Niall talking from their room, and he’s thinking of a way to end each one of them for interrupting his wallowing. He really is.

“So, Harry, what’s up?” Louis asks, all bright smiles and warm feelings.

Harry hates him for it.

“Nothing. You?” he responds, knowing he’s being difficult and doing it on purpose.

“Oh you know, same old same old. A little birdie told me you’ve been a badger as of late.”

Harry’s killing Niall.

“Has he?” he asks, sipping his tea.

Louis’s face falls from the bright cheery smile he had on.

“No, really H. How are you?”

Harry grips his cup a little tighter and swallows down around the thickness in his throat that seems to have appeared- and stayed- after that night.

“I’m alive” Harry says, looking up to give Louis his attention.

“But barely breathing?” Louis asks with a small smile.

Harry laughs a dry little thing, remembering how he and Louis figured out they both went to the same Script concert, before they even knew each other.

“If you can call it that” Harry responds, a little too honestly. He looks back down at his tea, keeping his eyes there.

“How is he?” he asks, feeling the familiar waves of pain threatening to crash and take him under.

He looks up and Louis is giving him a sad look, like he’s not sure if they should be having this conversation.

He must decide it’s okay because he responds.

“He’s pretty much like you, except we’re not allowed anywhere near his room.” He says, drinking his tea after.

Harry nods, processing it. So they’re both miserable, how great.

“You know, he told me what happened.” Louis continues, watching Harry.

Harry pauses mid drink to look at Louis, blinking before he swallows and clears his throat.

“He did?” he asks. Harry hasn’t even told Niall, not because he doesn’t want to but because he just doesn’t want to talk about it. He can’t, if he’s being honest. Not yet, but he’s not at all surprised Zayn told Louis. It’s not like they weren’t yelling everything in his rooms that night either, the lads on the other side of the extremely thin walls.

“Yeah, explained everything. I don’t blame you.” Louis says, and even though it’s nice to hear those words, it does nothing to ease the hurt.

“Is he mad?” Harry asks, scared of the answer.

“No, at least not at you. Pretty sure he hates the universe right now though.” Louis says, pushing his teacup aside. Harry watches him warily, because the only time Louis pushes away tea is if he’s being serious and is going to talk a lot, and Harry really doesn’t want to deal with that right now.

“Relax, you look like a frightened bunny. I’m not going to lecture you or anything.” Louis starts, folding his hands on the counter as he speaks.

Harry feels look at Louis skeptically.

“Okay, Niall asked me to come talk to you, to be honest,”- Harry swears he hears a groan come from the back room- “and I agreed because you’re one of my closest friends, and Zayn’s my best mate and seeing you both depressed is literally horrible for everyone. I don’t think Niall’s drank once this entire time, and I think Liam’s drank more than enough, really” –there’s definite grumbled words coming from the back room- “ but it’s not about us. Harry,like, are you sure you made up your mind about this?”

Harry opens his mouth to respond but Louis raises his hand, cutting him off before he even begins.

“Because I’m here to talk about it with you, seeing as how I know Zayn the best out of the rest of us, and I want to be here, for you. But if you’re sure, then I’ll drop it and we’ll just go back to this fucked up type of normal you have going here.”

Harry wants to say yes and end this conversation so that he can go back to moping in his bed, but somehow Louis’s words have jumbled his thoughts and he feels his hesitance that he’s pushed down for the past couple days start to bubble up again.

“I mean, of course I question my decision, mainly because I really miss him” Harry starts, voice low and threatening to break with the words. “But I tried to think of another way this could have gone and I couldn’t come up with any. There’s no way where it works out for either one of us.”

“Because you both want separate things” Louis interjects, following along.

“Basically.” Harry answers, looking down again at his now cold tea, seeing a honey brown that reminds him of a certain set of eyes which make his heart clench and his hands shake.

He looks up at Louis to focus again, but Louis’s looking at him like he knows exactly where his head was.

“I’m not saying this because he’s my mate, but because I honestly think it, okay?” he starts, waiting until Harry nods before continuing.

“I know the thought of him never coming out is scary and not what you want at all, but I mean, H, you guys are only three months into this. Anything could happen, you know? Tomorrow he could change his mind and tell them, or not, but it’s not all set in stone. I mean, don’t you think you moved a little too fast with this decision?”

And Harry feels it like a needle to his thoughts, this annoying picking sensation that he’s been feeling for days. He doesn’t want to admit he’s wrong though, because then his resolve will break and he doesn’t know what he’ll do then.

But, it’s Louis. He and Harry seem to have a connection different than most. If he wants to say anything about this, he can tell him.

“Sometimes” he admits slowly, like it pains him to say it.

“You guys are both miserable, mate, and I don’t know how this is any better than the alternative.”

Harry shakes his head.

“Well what happens if I continue down this and five years down the road he still doesn’t want to tell his family? Then I have five years to try to get over instead of a couple of months.”

Now Louis shakes his head, but he’s smiling small.

“Honestly, Harry, five months or five years, it’s going to suck and hurt like a bitch and it’s still going to make you want to burn yourself alive because you think it would hurt less. You and Zayn, you guys aren’t simple. You’re like this heavy, intense thing that overcomes you, you’ve always been. That first night we walked into this place for that party, everyone could see it. You were never just friends”-Harry looks down and swallows back the tea trying to rise up before looking back up at Louis because honestly- “And mate, not everyone manages to find people like that in their lifetime.” Louis finishes, keeping Harry’s eyes on his.

“I can’t speak for you, but if it were me, I don’t think it would let the whole ‘not knowing’ thing stop me.”

“Why?” Harry asks, biting his lip.

Louis gives him a small smile, with soft eyes that Harry’s literally never seen him with before.

“Because I wouldn’t give up a love like you two for the world. You’re different. Like I said, when you’re together, it’s like it’s just you two. I don’t think I’ve seen something like it, and I’ve seen a lot, mate.”

Harry feels tears prick behind him eyes, and he blinks to keep them away, Louis’ words like bricks on his shoulder and heart as he tries to make sense of it in his head.

“We were only together for three months and I feel like part of me has died, Lou. How can that possibly be a good thing?” Harry asks, looking at Louis with what he knows is fear in his eyes. He’s never had something feel this heavy, this powerful in him and it scares him to death. Louis looks at him like he understands, like he can hear Harry’s thoughts, feel his emotions.

“Because that’s how you know it’s real. When it threatens to destroy you.” Louis says, voice gentle.

Harry blinks at him, his words echoing inside of him.

“All I’m saying is maybe just think about talking to him about it. Maybe it was too fast of a decision, and maybe not. But you guys chose the absolute worse time to talk about it, seeing how we were all high strung and tired and, you know, so maybe if you talked now you’d figure things out differently.” Louis says. “Again, I’m not saying this because it’s Zayn.”

“I know, Lou.” Harry says, giving Louis the first real smile he’s had in days.

“Good. So maybe talk? I think it’d be good, now that you’ve both had some time apart to think.”

Harry looks away for a second, trying to remember all the reasons why he shouldn’t agree but not being able to remember them over the noise Louis’s words have created in him. Maybe Lou’s right. He could just be looking at it all wrong, and Zayn has texted him, asking if they could talk. Maybe he should.

“Yeah. Yeah, maybe.” Harry agrees, looking up to see Louis stand from his chair and walk to Harry. Harry slips an arm around his waist as Louis slides his arm across Harry’s shoulders, pulling him in.

“Seriously though, try to figure it out. Okay? I love both of you, but I swear to God if I have to hear him play one more John Mayer song I’m  going to fucking break his stupid stereo and it’s going to be ugly.”

Harry laughs, something familiar as Louis hip checks him, all smiles and good vibes. “Plus, I’m pretty sure Niall is having daily meltdowns, claiming to be a child of divorce.”

“Am not” comes a thick Irish voice from the back, and Harry feels a smile spread across his face.

Louis clears his throat to get Harry’s attention.

“I don’t believe in a lot of things, Haz, but I believe in you two.” He mumbles against Harry’s head, from where Harry had put it on Louis’s shoulder.

Harry feels his heart warm just the tiniest bit, but it’s a start.

“When did you go all soft, Tomlinson?” Harry asks, more calm than he’s felt in a while.

Louis just gives him a sly smile, pulling away and putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket and lifting his eyebrows in amusement.

“I’ve been known to have my moments, right Jace?”

Jace, Niall and Liam all poke their heads into the living room, scoping out the situation. When they see there are no tears, they all walk out to Louis and Harry, Jace giving Harry a hug. When did all of them decided to be this touchy, Harry doesn’t remember.

“He likes to act all tough, but I’ve caught him crying at night, watching the _Titanic_ and eating a carton of ice cream.”

Louis turns to glare at him.

“There was enough room!” Louis squeals, startling all of them. “That bitch could have made room! Poor Leo froze his balls off when she could have moved. I would have moved.” Louis says, pointing at Jace and defending himself.

“I’m sure you would have.” Liam says, earning a glare himself. “Good thing it’s a fake story then.” he finishes, making Jace and Louis turn to look at him.

“What?” Jace asks, eyes wide.

“It’s fake. Rose and Jack? Never existed. Just made up for the movie.”

Harry, Niall, and Liam watch as Jace and Louis go from lost to angry to sad to shocked.

“You didn’t know?” asks Liam, amused as he watches Jace shakes his head and Louis look murderous.

“I hate everything” Louis mumbles, blinking at Jace who nods his head and chuckles, loving how dismayed Louis appears to be.

Harry watches it all unfold before, letting the happy vibes fill his lungs and giving him more space in head than he’s had in days to think. He looks at all his friends and decides he has something to do.

“Hey Lou?” he asks, as Louis turns to look at him with shock still in his eyes.

“Is he home?” he asks, and Louis smiles at him just as Niall and Liam hug him, getting all emotional.

“Guys, we’re just talking. Stop it.” He mumbles between two bodies crushing him, because honestly they are all grown boys and they’re hugging him about this situation and he swears he hears someone sniffle.

“That’s enough for me’ Liam says, sighing as Niall nods and says “I was having nightmares. Thought I had to start planning which place I would party at which weekend, and I was starting to get nauseous.”

“You’re both ridiculous, get off” Harry says, a hint of laughter in his tone.

“Need a ride? I can drive you.” Jace offers, already getting up and getting his keys from his pocket.

“Yeah, that’d be brilliant. Let me just put on a better shirt.”

They say bye to all of them, Louis opting to stay to watch the footie match with Niall coming up soon, and promising to buy beer for when- or if- he comes back.

The ride to Jace’s is short as Harry watches the streets fade into different worlds, people changing from business attire respectables to punks with green hair and knee high converse, switching to the old gran helping her toddler grandson climb down the steps from their building, all these little realities passing by with each roll of the tires of the car.

It’s only been three days since he’s seen Jace, therefore not much is new so they talk about things like Jace’s girl.

“We’re brilliant." He says with a smile, eyes crinkling at the corners. "I’m pretty sure she’s the one for me.” He says as he brakes at an intersection and waits for the light to change to green.

It’s getting close to sunset, Harry realizes, and the sky is beautiful shades of pink and orange, blue reaching up around them as clouds scatter across the entire view, making it breathtaking.

“I’m glad, mate. She seems great.” Harry says back, watching the sky.

“She is. I can’t wait for her to visit so that you can all finally meet her. She’s heard too many stories about you lot,” he says as the light turns green and he drives forward.

Harry turns to respond to Jace, but he’s distracted by a bright light coming from Jace’s window, blinding them. He has half a second to figure it out, but when he does, it’s too late. He feels everything in that half a second, from the way his breath leaves his lungs to the way his muscles tighten on reflex, waiting, to the way Jace turns to look at him, the look in his eyes must be a mirror to what Harry’s own are showing. He feels everything suspend and go in that moment, like a bounce of a spring, locking and then shooting forward.

And that’s the last thing Harry Styles thinks as he sees the harsh white light crash into them, the force of about two tons of metal going forty five miles per hour hitting their car on the right hand side and making their car spin and flip once, before resting on its side and settling with a groan of punctured metal and bleeding hearts, and not a beat is heard until the ambulance arrives a few minutes later.

 

 

~~

 

 

It’s not something they saw coming, is the thing. They never thought they might have to feel emotions through a photograph or hear a voice through a memory, remembering a person instead of hugging them. It wasn’t a day brighter than the rest, the night didn’t have a different feel, the air didn’t feel cooler, the birds didn’t sing quieter, there were no signs.

There were no signs.

That’s why it hurt most, is the thing. Why you feel the ache transform into a burn, into this raw and churning thing in your stomach that squeezes the sobs and the shakes out of you, that makes your knees give out and your strength flee as you rest your head against the frame of your bed, trying to get up and keep moving because that’s another thing.

Nothing warned you and nothing will warn you. It’s a cold and hard world, filled to the brim with hurt and joy, with fear and love. It’s a world with twists and turns like roads of a mountain, winding around and going up and up until you’ve reached the peak, and then all that’s left to do is fall. Because this world has danger, fear around every corner and ache between the laughs and sighs, but it also will bring you love.

Love will come in the shape of green eyes and silly grins, of big, warm hands and beautifully curly hair, with a heart so big you could fit the world in it two times round. Love will come in the shape of glistening brown eyes, with a quick mind and a quiet mouth, with tattoos that cover scars that he hides from the world because he’s ashamed of what they say about him. Love comes in the shape of soft lips greeting warm breaths, of warm hugs on the coldest of nights that make teeth rattle and hands go numb, of catching fires that seep into skin and warms the coldest corners of the heart. Love comes in the form of rich coffee in the morning as a wake up call and delicious wine at night as a welcome home.

Love comes in and changes everything until it leaves and makes you feel even colder than you were before, when you told yourself you’re better off alone and it was a good thing to be silent and take up less space. Because now you know what it’s like to be warm, to be held in the pitch black of the night, to feel two bodies take up the entire space of a bed and settle like puzzle pieces against each other. Now you know what it’s like to start a fire.

Now you’ve been burned, and you start to feel it all press down on your lungs again as you are left wondering how you possibly managed to drown in flames.


	2. Zayn

They say the first day is always the hardest. They were wrong. 

The first day doesn’t compare to the agonizing ache that suffocates you as you wait, just sitting there waiting for a phone call, a text, a voice, a breath, anything, literally anything that will prove this reality to be false. The first day can’t explain the way silence can be deafening, how you sit at a wall and cry, pray, hope to God with every last piece of your crumbling soul that you’ll wake up from this nightmare and back into some sense of normalcy. 

As Zayn waits in the waiting room at the hospital, he thinks he’s never hated silence so much in his life. 

Zayn loves silence, is the thing. He loves the way it opens doors for different voices, for different sounds to bleed together and create chaos or harmonies but always something, with him always watching. But sometimes silence is the answer, and Zayn hates it because that’s all there’s been. There was silence when he was sitting on his bed, holding a phone to his ear but not hearing words at all, the silence consuming him as he replays the words that literally broke the air around him; there was silence as he made his way to the hospital, not a soul loud enough to dislodge him. There’s silence as Zayn waits in an uncomfortable chair placed in a row on tile floors, the atmosphere like clouds of grief and tension and anxiety that threatens to pour down on them at any moment when a doctor walks through swinging doors to tell you if your life will always have this silence to it. 

Because that’s what happens when you lose someone. Part of your life goes silent. You hear it when you’re watching a movie and a certain scene or laugh or even a color reminds you of someone who's not there, and you hear the silence in your heart from where they once were, where they should be. You hear it on holidays and special occasions, when it would have been their turn to open the presents or make the toast, but instead there’s only a pained swallow of emotions and silent tears that seep through your skin and burn all the way to your heart. You hear it when you try to remember their smell but you’re too old for that now, and all that’s left is that one jacket they use to wear every morning, when they would make their tea before going to work. 

Zayn hears that silence every day, has heard it every day for the past eight years as his heart tried to piece itself back together with time, not quite making it because truth be told, you don’t make it back from a death of a loved one. Because it leaves gaps and holes and silences in places that use to be whole and filled and loud with life.

 Silence is a world where Harry doesn’t exist, and Zayn doesn’t think he can take anymore booming quietness in his life. 

But he waits that torturous wait, sitting beside Louis, Liam, and Niall as they all stare at their hands but not really staring at all. When Zayn arrived to the emergency room, Louis had walked up to him and pulled him in for a hug, like some type of standard greeting where they bury their face into your neck before walking back to their seat and burying their face into their hands instead, always hiding. There’s always one of those. 

And Liam had hugged him next, explaining the situation and everything they know and telling him the story of how a truck had ran a red light and crashed into the right side of the car, hitting Jace head on but flipping the car to make it land on Harry’s side. He explained how they’re both in surgery at the moment, the doctors trying to save them as they bleed on their operating tables, doing their best with the best they have, everything always their “best”. He tells Zayn that he already called their families and that they’re on their way, and that the boys will make it through. “They’ll be okay, Zayn”. Hopeful. There’s always one of those too. 

And then there’s Niall, who’s sitting down and staring at the wall, eyes stuck like glue as he doesn’t blink and just waits, knowing there’s nothing else to do. Because you see, hospitals aren’t made to distract you. Some have a cafeteria, some have game rooms, they have the maternity wards for people who go see babies as a way to motivate hope; but at the end of the meal, or the game, or when the nurse takes the baby to give them back to their parents, you’re left to face your reality again and no amount of magazines or coffee will change that. And that’s where people like Niall come in, who stare at whatever is in front of them and just let the silence scream at them. They’re realistic. There’s always one of those. 

Except now, there’s two, as Zayn sits down next to him and does the same exact thing. 

They wait. 

Hours go by, and Jace’s parents arrive within the third hour, his mother a mess of tears and his father grave as stone, hugging all of them but Sam clings to Zayn- why him, he doesn’t know. But Zayn holds her as Jace’s dad hugs Louis, and he tries to steal some of her warmth but there’s no fire in this world that can warm him. Only the fire that’s in one boy’s heart, fighting on a table to keep burning. 

“What have the doctors said?” asks his dad, looking at all of them. 

Liam answers, the one who’s been answering this whole time. 

“Jace and Harry were driving in his new car back to our place,” Zayn looks up then, because that’s news to him, “and they were going through an intersection when a truck hit them. It ran a red light… and hit the car on Jace’s side” 

Jace’s mom starts to cry harder. 

Liam looks like he’s going to cry as well but he doesn’t, and instead keeps talking. 

“The car flipped once and landed on its side, on Harry’s side.” He noticeably swallows before continuing. He acts like it’s the first time explaining, but there’s really no way to get accustomed to saying something like this. 

“Harry hit his head against the window, and I don’t quite understand it all but I know something’s wrong with his lungs and his arm but Jace…” Liam looks down then, biting the inside of his cheek.

“My baby” Jace’s mum starts to cry, turning into her husband for support as he hugs her to him, his eyes overcast. 

“He’ll be okay, he’ll be okay” he whispers into her hair in a private moment but it’s quiet enough in the waiting room that all the boys can hear him. 

Zayn stands then, not pausing to look at the crowd of broken people around him as he makes his way down the hallway, down the long stretch of tiled floor where too many souls have walked, too many memories, too many emotions painted on these walls, and Zayn feels them all as he passes each crack, each step taking him further away from that one soul he feels calling out to him. But instead he keeps walking, until he reaches brisk, crippling air outside the exit doors. 

He take one breath of air before leaning his body against the brick wall, letting it take all the weight and heaviness he’s felt since he picked up his phone a few hours ago. He’s trying to breathe normally but he can’t seem to get enough air and his whole body is shaking but he’s not sure if it’s from the cold or from the graveness of the situation; either way he doesn’t really want to know. He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls out his cigarettes and lighter, lighting one up and sucking in the familiar nicotine, closing his eyes and waiting for the rush to settle after the first drag. 

He’s almost down to the filter when the door opens next to him and a familiar set of blue eyes find him, coming to sit next to him and reaching out his hand to take the fag from Zayn and take a drag of his own.

It’s funny how history has a way of repeating itself. Zayn smoked a cigarette after he found out his parents had passed, against the wall of his house with his best friend right there with him, holding his hand out. And now, as Zayn waits to lose someone yet again, here is Louis, reaching his hand out, just like that last time. 

Louis smokes quietly, blowing the smoke out in front of him and closing his eyes, resting. Zayn doesn’t talk to him, just lights another cigarette for himself and leans his head back, facing the dark sky and seeing the grey smoke escape his lips from the fire licking and burning his insides, like it has been since the night he left Harry’s room.

They stay like that for while, just the night air around them and feeling each other’s presence before going back inside, the thought of stepping back in there enough to make Zayn light another one and breathe it in again, trying to find some sense of grounding within himself. But Liam’s words have been playing themselves over and over in his head since he heard them, and it’s making each inhale of the cigarette worse as his stomach sinks lower.

“Why was he going to our place?” he asks Louis suddenly, still looking up at the sky. 

He feels Louis tense next to him, and he closes his eyes against the answer he knows is about to come. When Louis sighs, Zayn’s shoulders tense also. 

“He was coming to see me, wasn’t he?” Zayn asks, the words like knives in his throat and his heart clenching with something more fierce than pain, something like regret. 

He turns to face Louis, and he sees Louis already looking at him with sorrow in his eyes, lips pressed together as his way of giving an answer. 

Zayn swallows back the bile rising in his throat and he takes another drag to calm him, but he suddenly thinks of Harry on that table, fighting to keep his lungs working and body going while Zayn is smoking a cancer stick.  Zayn tosses his cigarette just in time as he gets up quickly on his knees and leans over, off the sidewalk, to throw up from the way his head is spinning and stomach lost somewhere in the waves. 

He feels tears prick his eyes but he doesn’t cry, he can’t cry, so he sits in agony as his stomach tries to escape his body and his head pounds against his skull. He registers a hand on his back but he’s too lost in these waves that are washing over him, of guilt, of ache, of anxiety and fear, all these things stabbing at him from the inside until he’s sure there will always be scars etched into his bones. 

Because he loves Harry so much, but he didn’t fight for him, and now Harry’s in the fucking hospital and bleeding on a table while Zayn throws up outside. Because he was always too scared, and Harry was always too brave. Because Harry always fought for him, like he said that night, while Zayn ran away. Harry’s in the hospital because he was running after Zayn again, and Zayn was too pathetic to try to meet him halfway. If he tried, Harry wouldn’t be dying in a hospital surrounded by people who don’t know his favorite color; the color of purple of the morning sky, when the sun is rising and is transforming from purple to pink to orange. Like it did that one time they stayed out all night, sobering up from a crazy night that had them constantly moving, constantly running to catch up but how they settled in the peace of that moment, watching colors lick the dark of the sky and bring the morning to life. Because that was just them, watching how fast the night changed before their eyes, until a new dawn broke before them. 

If Zayn had tried harder, they would have had another dawn together. 

He heaves until there’s nothing left, the acid burning his throat and stomach as he feels the waves in his body settle and he can see straight again. Louis’s saying his name but he’s not listening, trying to gain some balance in himself before breaking out of this haze. 

Louis pulls his arm around his shoulders and helps him back to the wall, settling him against it and keeping an arm around him, even as they both sit in silence as Zayn buries his face in his hands. He feels like screaming and crying and tossing every curse he can think of into the air, the sky, whatever is responsible for them but he also feels the tiredness he’s been harboring in his body for years fill the joints in his body, the weight of this world resting on his chest as he struggles to find his breath against it. 

“This is all my fault.” 

It’s the words Zayn’s been waking up to everyday for years, but oddly enough they didn’t come from his mouth. He turns to look at Louis, who isn’t looking at him. No one seems to be able to look at him lately. 

“What?” Zayn asks in confusion, searching Louis’s face.

Louis blinks and pushes his lips together, breathing out a shaky breath. 

“It’s my fault” Louis says, voice wrecked. “I went over to talk with him, and I convinced him to try to talk things out with you.” 

Zayn’s staring at him now, not sure if he’s hearing Louis correctly. 

“You did what?” he asks, his voice tight. It makes Louis flinch. 

“You were miserable. He was supposed to go talk with you. You guys were supposed to fix this. It’s my fault he and Jace got in that car. It’s my fault we’re all here.” Louis says, eyes looking down at his hands in his lap, his other arm around Zayn still. 

Zayn’s still staring at him, frozen in place. 

“It’s my fault” Louis says in a tone Zayn knows all too well, enough to make it sting his ears when he hears them come from Louis. 

But he doesn’t know what to say to that, because he still doesn’t know how to deal with it himself, so he turn and stares out into the distance with Louis, listening to the sound of cars and people and life circle them like the rhythm of a song he doesn’t know.

 

After a while, Louis slips his arm out from around Zayn and gets up to go back inside, Zayn not following him and opting to stay out there a little longer. When Louis’s about to open the door, something in Zayn stirs and he calls out his name. 

“Lou.” 

Louis stops and turns to look at him with sad eyes, something almost akin to fear in them, as if he’s scared Zayn would hate him. Like he really does believe what he said earlier. It’s something Zayn’s seen in his own eyes, and it doesn’t look right on Louis’ face. 

“It’s not your fault” he says. 

He sees something in Louis break, and Louis looks at him for a moment before nodding once and opening the door in front of him, leaving Zayn alone outside with his words. 

 _It’s not your fault_. 

It tastes something strange as it rolled off his tongue, because he’s never said those words before. To his friends, his family, himself. They’ve been words he didn’t deserve to say.

But somehow he’s found a way to say them, and Zayn feels them flow into him and shape the crack in his heart, letting it bleed a different way than before. It hurts as the feeling moves, but that’s something his mum would always tell him when he was little and growing, his body aching with change, like when his wisdom teeth started to come in or his back would hurt from growing pains. 

“ _It hurts because you’re growing, love. You’re becoming someone new, and you’re just not use to it. One day you won’t even notice it anymore”_ she would say as she played with his hair, smiling at him. She would always be there with medicine to help him when he would fall and hurt himself or with some ice and a hug when he would ache for something he couldn’t control, always making him feel better.

It feels like that now. He feels her in the way his heart starts to change from how it’s been the past eight years, where he would hide it behind walls of stone and ice and keep everyone at a distance, far enough to not impact the cracks in his heart. He would keep it all away because it hurt too much to deal with it, but Harry had started something in him and he feels his impact in those cracks and holes, where he thought he’d never feel again. He feels his mum in those words, like fingers in his hair and she would say “ _It’s not your fault_ ” whenever he started to be in pain and she would comfort him. 

He looks at the darkness of the night and welcomes the ache of change, the darkness in him turning into a different color he doesn’t recognize as he stands and walks back inside, pass the walls filled with stories he could never explain, of different colors he can never change, but letting himself go regardless.

He waits.                             

                                                                        +++     

 

They both made it out of surgery.

Zayn’s sitting down when the doctor came out, shoulders tired but eyes hopeful, like the rest of them. Jace’s surgeon managed to stop Jace’s internal bleeding and stitch him up, but he has many broken bones and he’s in a medically induced coma. Although he’s stable, he’s just barely there, but he’s going to live.

He’s going to live.

Zayn sees Jace’s parents cry more but their silent sobs sound more hopeful than before. He watches them but can’t join in their relief just yet while waiting for the news of another boy.

The doctor, Harry’s surgeon, asks for Harry’s family, but they’re still not there yet because of traffic or leaving late or some other excuse Zayn didn’t hear.

“I have to wait for the family” the man responds, and Zayn wants to punch him with how difficult he’s being.

Niall walks up then, body language unbreakable as he speaks firmly but without malice.

“We are his family. He’s my brother, our brother” Niall says, waving to Louis and Liam and Zayn, which makes Zayn want to roll his eyes but it’s not really the moment for that.

The doctor looks like he’s about to argue but there’s the sound of doors bursting open and all of their party turns to see a women running down the corridor, eyes hectic and feet speedy, racing to get to somewhere. She starts looking around the room until she looks their way and her eyes land on Niall, her eyes fixing on him as she starts making her way toward them.

“Niall” she says, running to him and wrapping her arms around him in a hug that he returns with equal force, holding her close as she buries her face in his neck.

“Hey Gem” he says, and Zayn’s eyes flick with more interest now as he takes in who he knows is Harry’s sister.

“Anne and Robin?”

“Still in America. They’re flying out as soon as they can.”

Zayn remembers Harry mentioning his parents taking a vacation to California about two weeks ago, when they were lying in bed, eating the take out Harry had ordered for them.

“They wanted to go to this one place with some famous aquarium and like drive along the coast or something. Something Sir? I think?” he has said around a mouthful of food, sauce on his face and looking like the most adorable thing Zayn had ever seen.

But that’s gone and now he’s stuck in a waiting room, watching Harry’s sister try not to fall apart.

She’s beautiful, to say the least, with long blond hair and a narrow face, petite in size as she hugs Niall. He has seen her only once in a picture on Harry’s phone that he just barely glimpsed at because Harry was up and running before he knew it, always moving and buzzing in a way Zayn never was but he loved it nonetheless. He sees Harry in her, mainly in her eyes. It hurts Zayn to look at for they’re all too familiar but sickeningly different all at the same time with the way she looks at Niall, her gaze soft and friendly but also not like Harry because there’s a hint of sadness and fear in the corners. He knows that look all too well, however, because that was the last look Harry’s eyes gave him before this whole mess, but Zayn can’t look away.

Gemma looks like she’s about to ask Niall something when she must register that the man in all blue scrubs staring at them is the doctor because she turns to him, not letting go of Niall, and says “I’m the sister.”

The doctor looks at her once before nodding and proceeding with the news.

“We managed to stop his lungs from caving in, and we’ve also managed to realign the bones in his arm and put a cast on it to start the healing.”

When the doctor stops to let out a breath, Zayn feels like throwing up.

“We’ve managed to stabilize him, though it’s still early to say for sure that it’s stable _enough_. But, he, uh, he hit his head hard against the window, and there was swelling in his brain.”

“What does that mean?” asks Gemma, who clutches tighter to Niall with each word the doctor says.

The doctor looks at her with empathetic eyes, almost like he wants to reach out and soothe her but knowing he’s not allowed.

“Brain injuries are complicated because the brain is the one organ we know the least about in the entire human body. We put him on some antibiotics and the swelling has started to subside, but he did smash his head against a window” the doctor says, making literally everyone flinch at the imagery his words provide.

“We won’t know the extent of the injury until he wakes up” he says, folding his hands in front of him and looking at all of them politely.

“I, um, I need to warn you though” the doctor continues “I can’t guarantee he will wake up. He’s in a coma at the present moment, and we have no idea when he’ll be awake, or even if.” He pauses, letting everyone soak in the information.

“And we can’t say for sure if he’s going to be the same or someone completely different after.”

“He could have amnesia” says Liam, and Niall looks at him with a look that could silence a war.

The doctor looks to Liam and nods, then blinking at them all. “Yes, that’s one of the possibilities.”

“Possibilities?” asks Jace’s mum, and Zayn thinks bless her heart for worrying about a boy she never met but still cares about because he’s one of Jace’s mates.

The doctor looks at her patiently, loads of experience showing in the way he answers all their questions with all of his attention regardless of the fact that he was just operating for hours.

“Yes, possibilities. Like I said, we don’t know exactly the extent of this and how it’s going to affect uh, um” the doctor pauses, trying to remember.

“Harry” says Zayn, the first time he’s spoken in a long time and he feels it in the way it comes out hoarse and raspy, but that could also be because he just fucking said Harry’s name like it was a reflex, something his body knows without command.

The doctor and Gemma look at him for the first time since he appeared, and Gemma’s eyes linger on his form, taking him in.

“Right. Harry, thank you” he responds to Zayn before turning back to Gemma and Niall. “We don’t know how it will affect Harry, and while he could wake up and not remember anything, there’s just as good a chance that amnesia won’t take place.”

“When can we see him?” asks Louis, who’s standing by Zayn and asking all the questions Zayn should be asking, but he’s not.

Just like always. He can’t. Just pile it onto the list, the things he can’t do. The image of a tattoo flashes in his mind, one on Harry’s arm that he got when they first met which he never told Zayn the meaning of. He shakes himself from his thoughts and focuses back on the present.

Louis’s voice registers in Gemma and she turns to look at them with a confused look, not recognizing Louis but when she looks at Zayn she doesn’t look confused at all, which both scares and perplexes him.

“We’ve placed him and your other friend in the same room upstairs. You can visit them in a little bit, but they’ll both probably be under when you get there.”

“It doesn’t matter” says Louis, and Zayn nudges him with his elbow because he heard the snipe in his tone, even if the others didn’t, and Louis doesn’t need to be giving the doctor attitude when he’s telling them information and trying to help them.

Louis looks at him but Zayn looks back, tilting his head forward a bit until Louis’s haunches fall and he sighs, frustrated.

The doctor nods once, Zayn still fixed on his patience, before turning to look behind him at the nurse station and then facing the group again.

“You can see them soon. We just have to finish some things up and a nurse will guide you there after.”

“Finish what?” asks Gemma.

“They’re cleaning up from the surgeries” the doctor responds, and Gemma nods in understanding but doesn’t say another word.

“I’ll be back to check up on them and update you all” he concludes before smiling a tight smile at them and walking away, tone polite. It all seems too rehearsed to Zayn, something they do to everyone, doing their “best” and he feels that familiar distrust and anger at doctors rise in his throat but he forces himself to swallow it down, for Harry’s sake. He needs to stay level headed, for Harry and Jace.

Gemma turns to stare at Niall, the rest of them turning toward each other but not talking really, as Jace’s parents huddle together and speak low enough that Zayn can make himself ignore their words. Louis looks at him but Zayn settles into a chair instead, breathing a harsh breath and rubbing at his face,  forcing himself to not think about the doctors words until he’s alone and outside, where he can manage to breathe easier without the smell of hospital fumes and dying hope tainting the air.

Instead, he looks around at the other people sitting in the same room. The old woman with a bloody tissue pressed to her nose, her husband by her side whispering to her; or the mum with the two children, her eyes wired but her hands shaky and helping one with her homework as the other naps, wrapped up in a blanket. Then there's the teenager with her feet on the chair on her phone, looking impassive and collected but Zayn knows she's actually not fine at all because he can see where her cheeks are wet and her black mascara messy, clumpy, but face emotionless all the same. She's been here before, Zayn decides. You can always tell who’s a veteran.

He looks around and wonders where he fits on this scale, from the crying of the baby that's not four days old, to the defeat in the old man's shoulders as he hugs his wife to him, closing his eyes. Zayn takes it all in and wonders how he fits among them, if his pain is greater or lesser, if he should cry and scream like the baby or sit in the corner and try not to stare at a wall whose white paint whispers memories back at him, like the old man, because either way he's leaving this place a different man, but which man that will be he's not sure.

He’s disrupted from his thoughts when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Liam looking at him with worried eyes. Liam’s become one of his closest friends, their love of comics and superhero movies forming a bond between them from the beginning.

“We’re gonna go see them” he says, the collective “we” loud to Zayn.

“I think Imma stay back a bit” Zayn says, looking up at Liam, who raises an eyebrow at his answer.

“Why?” he asks.

Zayn sighs a heavy sigh, looking over to his left where Gemma and Louis are shaking hands and greeting each other. Gemma’s eyes stay on Louis until just when Zayn is going to look away, and then they flicker over to him with a look of recognition in her eyes so strong it sends shivers down Zayn’s back. He’s looking away when she looks so his eyes flicker back to her but when they do Gemma’s already staring back at Louis.

“I need to be alone” Zayn says as he turns back to Liam.

Liam sighs, still standing in front of him. “You’ve been alone too much lately, and you should be with people who care about you right now. We all need to stick together and we should all be there when they wake up-“

“If.”

Zayn feels the word thick as blood on his tongue, painful to say but even more painful to hear, judging off Liam’s expression.

“What?” Liam asks, shocked.

“If he wakes up, Li. There’s a chance he won’t.”

They both know which one Zayn’s referring to.

“Zayn-“

“I’ll catch up with you all later” Zayn says as he stands, facing Liam for a second before turning and walking away from the group and down the hall, turning at corners he doesn’t recognize but not caring for one second. He walks until the faces on the desks don’t look so scary anymore and he can feel his body working again, breathing in and out and shifting over to autopilot. He must walk in circles because surely the hospital isn’t _that_ big but he keeps walking regardless, putting all his pent up motion into use with every stride.

He manages to find the cafeteria at some point, walking inside and buying a sandwich and apple juice that he doesn’t touch the entire time he’s sat at a table, staring at the surface instead for some time before getting up and walking once again, food in one hand and his heart in the other.

He doesn’t know how long he walks, and he surely must look like a madman or someone from the psych ward, walking up and down the hallways with an unfathomable expression on his face and determination in his step. He must look like a trapped man trying to find his way out.

Which is, of course, why he suddenly finds himself standing in front of the room number that Liam had texted him an hour after he disappeared, along with a text saying _where r_ u and _Lou’s gonna have me head if somethin happens to you_. He doesn’t know how he made it to the glass door leading to their room, but he did. He walked up those steps, past the many rooms filled with pained breaths, and has somehow managed to find his destination. Funny enough, he doesn’t remember any of it. He just walked and walked, keeping his eyes forward and his brain numb. And now that he’s here, he can’t seem to find the strength to go into the room. He feels every step he took like an anchor on his chest. He has no idea what he’s going to find once he goes in there, whether it will still be Harry or this damaged, crippled version of him that Zayn made up in his head and can’t seem to rid himself of no matter how hard he tries. He’s been replaying it over and over in his head, each time worse than the last, Harry’s skin pale and a mess of scars, arm in a cast, machines plugged into every patch of skin they could fit into, everything just screaming broken and Zayn doesn’t want to see him like that, remember him in that way. He wants to imagine Harry as how he’s always been; smile like sunlight peaking through thick clouds with eyes so warm they melt everything Zayn built as a guard over the years, but somehow that hurts even worse.

Because his last memory of Harry wasn’t the best of them, his eyes stormy instead of welcoming and his smile gone, taking the sunshine with it.

But above all he owes it to Harry and to himself to go in there and not walk away.

Yet that’s exactly what ends up happening.

He makes it down the hall and past the bathrooms before it’s too much and he runs into the wall, letting it take his weight and balance away from him for a second. He slides down until he’s seated, knees up and pulled against him as he hugs them close and rests his head that’s pounding with emotions and thoughts.

He doesn’t know how long he stays like that, trying to breathe away the demons, how long he lets himself be weak and pathetic, but after a while he hears an unfamiliar voice.

“Zayn?”

He looks up and it’s Gemma standing above him with a cup in one hand and a sandwich in the other. She looks down on him as he blinks back at her, startled. She resembles Harry even more now that she’s three feet away from him and he can see the similarities in facial features. She’s beautiful, just like her brother. He never imagined their first time meeting being in the hospital, but life tends to throw everything he planned off caliber since the day he was born.

“Hi” he says back when he notices he hasn’t said anything after ten seconds, Gemma’s face shifting from slightly uncomfortable to apparently uncomfortable.

“Hi” she says back, still standing there. “I, erm. Didn’t get to formally meet you downstairs, with the doctor and such and then Niall and Liam explaining everything to me. I’m Gemma.”

“I know who you are” he responds, and then mentally hits himself for being so awkward.

But Gemma just nods back, expression calm, which Zayn envies from her.

“Just as I know who you are” she replies, and it throws him so much if he weren’t already sitting he’s sure he’d end up in the same position.

“You what?” he asks.

Instead of answering, Gemma walks to stand beside him before sinking down and sitting, just like him, placing her coffee and sandwich next to his in the slot of space between them. She pulls her legs up and rests her arms on her knees, her flowy sweater making her look younger than Zayn knows she is. She doesn’t look at him until she settles, gaze uncomfortable.

“I know who are” she repeats.

“Who am I?” asks Zayn, unsure of what direction she was leaning toward.

Gemma turns to look at him then, the tension of her shoulders shadowing the light in her eyes, the same light he saw in Harry’s. He’s so caught up in staring at her that he almost misses her answer.

“You’re the bloke that broke my brother’s heart.”

And oh.

It feels like the final point, words like a shot against the ice in his chest until it all starts to crack and Zayn feels the oceans inside him start to move and rage against his heart, swallowing him whole.

“I-“ Zayn starts but it all becomes too much and he feels the tears he hasn’t shed start to build up in his eyes but he refuses to cry in front of Harry’s sister, because honestly. Of all people.

“I don’t know what to say” he says instead, pinching the skin of his leg through the fabric to keep from crying.

Gemma nods at that, watching him.

“I wouldn’t know either, if I’m honest.”

Zayn almost smiles at that, if he could find the muscles in his face.

“He didn’t tell me that you knew” says Zayn, going straight to the point.

Gemma sighs against her arm, the sleeve of her jumper still dark and damp from where she’s been wiping away her tears for hours, Zayn assumes.

“He didn’t.”

Zayn stares at her then, blinking in astonishment.

“What?”

Gemma continues to look at him calmly, scarily calm. It’s freaking Zayn out more than if she were crying and yelling at him, which is one of his worst fears from people.

But anyway

She lifts her head then, thumping it against the wall behind her and keeping it there.

“He’s my best friend” she says, tone with a hint of emotion. “We know each other better than anyone. I raised him, you know? Whenever mum and dad were working, I would look after him. But he would look after me too.”

Zayn nods, understanding, thinking of his own sisters and how they watched out for each other.

“But how?” Zayn asks, knowing she’ll understand what he’s asking.

She smiles then, oddly enough, and Zayn thinks she might actually be a bit insane.

“When school started, he mentioned having gained some new friends. You, Louis, and Jace. And it wasn’t a big deal until some months ago, when he just… it’s hard to describe because we just know each other so well, we don’t have to tell each other things really. I can usually tell through a text that he’s sad or mad, but this time. It’s kind of weird” she says with a small laugh, a look of wonder on her face, remembering no doubt.

“Some months ago, he called me and he was just. He was so happy. I haven’t heard him that happy in a long time. I just knew he found someone.”

Every word is a stab to Zayn’s heart, feelings burning on his tongue from all the questions he wants to ask her.

He settles with a “but how did you know it was me? He said he hadn’t come out to his family yet.”

Gemma turns to him then, looking him square in the eye.

“He’s my best friend, Zayn. I’ve known he wasn’t straight for years.”

Zayn blinks at her, then turns to stare in front of him and run his fingers through his hair.

“And I know it was you because one time when we were talking he was describing something you lot did, something about a footie game you all went to, and he was talking about something one of you did and he just…” He turns to look at Gemma who is already looking at him, waiting for his eyes “He said your name, and I knew. I could tell you were different. And three days ago, I knew something was wrong but I didn’t want to pry. But when I asked about you, just hearing your name… I heard him try not to cry. And I just knew.”

Zayn feels his eyes water, and he bites his cheek to distract him, ever so close to spilling emotions but always retreating from the edge. Harry said his name and it was enough for his sister to know how he felt about Zayn.

It’s too much.

“I’ve never liked my name,” Zayn says, looking down at his lap where his hands are resting on his crisscrossed legs, “It’s not that common and I didn’t really like it. Not until Harry said it.” He gulps dry air, words even dryer on his throat.

“I only like my name when Harry says it.”

Saying it out loud, what Harry means to him, breaks the dam and pushes him over the edge because he starts to cry, the tears running hot down his cheeks and the sobs spilling out of his throat uncontrollably. He cries into his hands where they’ve come to cover his face, like they’re trying to push the tears and feelings back inside of him but he can’t.

He feels a hand on his shoulder, and it’s heavy enough that he can pull himself out of his melt down and look over at Gemma, who is crying too. She looks at him without a speck of hatred in her eyes, but it only makes Zayn feel worse.

“We broke up because I wouldn’t fight for him” Zayn tells her, letting it pour out of him and into the air between them. “He fought so hard for me, and I was always too scared, but Harry-” he stops as a sob breaks his words until he gets himself under control “Harry always fought. He loved me and I didn’t deserve it.”

He feels a fresh wave of tears spill onto his cheeks as he lets the ugly thoughts take hold of him, every disgusting and horrible thing he’s tried to not listen to suddenly screaming in his head as he thinks of the boy who tried to be strong enough for the both of them.

“He was coming to see me” he says, brushing the tears off his face with the back of his hand. “He was coming to try to talk with me, and that’s why we’re here. Because he always chose me and I didn’t deserve it, I don’t deserve him. I’m so sorry. He should have gotten better. I’m sorry.”

He’s still crying but he’s not sobbing anymore, and he’s not looking at Gemma because he’s scared he’ll see the hate he feels for himself reflected in her eyes. He deserves it, he deserves it all. He always has.

“If my brother loved you, Zayn, then that’s enough.”

Zayn turns to look at her, expecting a face covered in hateful tears and disgust but when he looks at her, all he sees is warmth and soft eyes, not a trace of anger in her features.

He’s sits in stunned silence, so Gemma speaks again.

“Harry finds the good in people. He always has. Everyone thought this one boy back at home was a mess, a hooligan at best. He was someone parents always pulled their children away from. But Harry found him, and now Jonathan’s got a good job and a nice wife, and he’s got many friends in a place that used to hate him. And it’s all because Harry brings out the good in the people he loves. I know he loves you, and that means there’s good in you.”

He stares at her with delicate composure.

“Don’t be sorry” she says, voice strong. “If this is it, then I’m not mad because he was fighting for something he loved. Don’t take that away from him, Zayn.”

Zayn shakes his head, because that’s not possible. It’s not _right_. He doesn’t deserve to believe it was worth anything when they could have avoided this if Zayn wasn’t such a fuck up, if he tried more. If he was fucking worth it.

But Gemma puts her hand on his knee, shaking it a little until Zayn looks back at her.

“I don’t know you, or your story or why you’re so keen on hating yourself. I probably won’t understand, but I just want you to know I don’t blame you. I don’t. And I know Harry wouldn’t either.”

Zayn looks away then, biting his lips to keep from crying more.

He hears her get to her feet, standing not so close but not leaving just yet, and the entire time Zayn doesn’t looks at her, can’t look at her. He doesn’t want to look at anyone ever again if it’s not Harry if he’s honest, so instead he looks at his feet, at his worn out leathered boots he loves so much that he buys a new pair of every year.

He feels her start to turn to go, and the empty space beside him does little to consolidate him. He’s still looking down when he hears her.

“It’s not your fault.”

Zayn’s head whips up to look at her, but she’s already walking away from him, leaving him alone with the words everyone’s been saying lately. The one’s he believed he didn’t deserve to hear.

He doesn’t know why it’s different this time, but somehow it is as he remembers earlier outside on the sidewalk, where he told Louis the same thing. It wasn’t his fault.

_It’s not my fault_

Zayn doesn’t feel anything tremendous happen, there’s no flickering of the lights in the hallway or a tremble along the ground. There’s not a clear moment that defines anything, nothing climatic.

But it’s like he can breathe easier, see better, hear things he hasn’t heard before. It’s like opening a window when the door was locked tight, going to the same destination, but through a different escape.

It makes Zayn move.

He retraces his steps, a new type of determination in his footsteps as he walks toward Harry, like Harry had always walked toward him.

When he reaches their room, he stops to take a deep breath, letting it fill up his lungs and stepping forward before he allows his thoughts to change his mind again.

When he gets inside, he realizes no one else is in there with them. There’s just two bodies on two separate beds, a curtain between them, machines making the only indication that there’s still breath inside of them. He hears the beeping of their hearts, quiet but mixed together in a jagged type of rhythm.

He sees Jace first, body stretched out on the bed with a gown in place instead of his usual skinny jeans and grey sweater he’s been wearing for weeks now. His body seems to be made out of casts as there’s plaster and bandages everywhere, on his leg and arm, tapped across his head and hands.

Zayn goes up to him and knocks his fist against Jace’s very gently, feeling the worry and fear crowd his throat but remembering how the doctor said he’ll be okay. Zayn doesn’t know how the boy in front of him can be seen as being “okay”, but time will tell all he tells himself.

“Hey bud” Zayn says as he keeps his hand next to Jace’s, feeling his warmth. He knows Jace isn’t going to respond, but it doesn’t stop the ache Zayn feels when he doesn’t hear the familiar Irish drawl coming off Jace’s lips.

“You’re going to be okay” Zayn says. He doesn’t know how to explain it, but he somehow knows Jace hears it, even if there’s no movement from the boy. It’s going to be okay.

That’s when he turns to the curtain next to Jace’s bed - something that confuses him because why the hell is that even there?- and he takes a deep breath; he’s taken so many deep breaths in the last twenty four hours you would think he’d be better at it. He lets himself hesitate for one second before stepping forward and pushing the curtain back, eyes zeroing in instantly on the boy on the bed in a similar hospital gown to Jace’s.

For the first time in a long time, Zayn doesn’t pay attention to the things around him. He doesn’t pay attention to the bandage wrapped around Harry’s head, pushing back on his delicate curls, or the cast on his left arm which usually freaks him out but isn’t important at the moment. He doesn’t notice the gashes on Harry’s face, the cut that’s healing along his eyebrows or the purple around his eyes. Zayn doesn’t pay attention to the way his heart seems to spring then settle, a constant cycle of emotions he feels but doesn’t register because the only thing he can see, the only thing he can hear is Harry’s heart beat on the monitor, indicating that he’s alive.

Zayn’s never bleed emotions like he is right now but he doesn’t care because he can hear Harry’s heart beating and that’s all that matters right now.

He walks closer slowly, like he’s being careful not to wake Harry even though he knows he won’t. There’s a chair on the other side of the bed from where Zayn’s standing, so he walks over and scoots it closer to the bed before sitting down, arms on his knees and back leaning forward as he looks at Harry and takes him in.

He’s still the most beautiful thing Zayn’s ever seen, covered in cuts and bruises and lined with bandages and plaster. He can see Harry’s chest from where it’s rising and falling with each breath, his body working and pressing on in a way that Zayn has never been so grateful to see before now. It’s moments like these when one learns a lot about who they are, as the sits and stares at a loved one in a state closer to death than usual, because it’s in that moment one understands the utter delicate balance life has, where one second you’re driving with the wind in your hair and life in your eyes but the next moment you’re staring at an uncertain future. It’s moments like these that make you realize how very unbrave you actually are, how scared and clueless you feel in a situation you can’t fix, even if you knew how. Zayn sits and stares at Harry and he suddenly realizes that everything he built, everything he’s manually done to protect himself and keep him safe and guarded was all in vain because life doesn’t work like that.

He looks at Harry and all he sees is reckless beauty and damaged love, what use to scare him more than anything those first few times with Harry because he _saw_ him, he saw Harry. He sees Harry now, more than just a victim of an accident in a hospital, but as one of the best people he’s ever had the pleasure to meet.

He sees him.

“I don’t know where to start” Zayn say quietly, eyes straining downward as he starts to speak. It’s weird, because he could be talking to the walls for all he knows but somehow he knows he’s not.

“I never thought we’d be here. Within these walls, of all places. You don’t fit in here.”

All Zayn hears is the beating of the monitors answering him.

“They said you were coming to see me. Liam- Li told me. I didn’t know that until about two hours ago. I didn’t even ask where you were going when I found out. I didn’t ask anything, just if you were alive.”

Zayn starts to rub his face with his hands, noticing that he’s shaking again.

“I hate this place” he says, pushing at his eyes to ease some of the pressure there. “It’s just walls upon walls of pain in here. We shouldn’t be here.”

He feels his eyes watering again.

“We should be walking by that fountain you always make a wish at, in the park by the tube station or we should be feeding the ducks at the pond or we should be in class pretending to take notes when we both know that’s not what we’re looking at.”

He takes a shaky breath to stop the sob from breaking out.

“We should be curled up in my bed, watching that stupid _Love Actually_ movie you’ve made me watch a million times, and we should be under blankets with my arms wrapped around you and you kissing my neck, like you always do. You should be smiling and warm and safe, and we should be together and happy and-“

This time he can’t stop the sob.

“I miss you so much” he says, letting the words fall off his tongue without second guess. “You shouldn’t be here” Zayn whispers, yet it sounds like a yell in the silence of the room.

“I should have tried” he continues after he gathers himself “I should have been the one going to you. This is all my fault. We shouldn’t have broken up, I shouldn’t have left you, I should have fought for you. It should be me here. It should be me. I’m sorry.”

Zayn feels like he’s grasping onto something that’s slipping away already, words rushing out like he’s trying to make time where he doesn’t have any left.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. You deserve better than me.”

Zayn’s throat burns, but he needs to stay. He needs to be in this room.

“I don’t deserve you. I never have. But it’s not just me, Harry. We need you. Niall, and Liam, and Louis, and Jace. And Gemma. I met Gemma. She’s nice, just like you.”

He doesn’t know why he’s pausing so much but it’s like his body needs breaks from how much his words are exerting himself.

“We all need you to come back.”

It doesn’t feel like enough.

“I need you to come back” Zayn says, finally looking up at Harry and watching him in his sleep, seemingly oblivious to every word.

But Zayn keeps going.

“Please come back.” Zayn pleads quietly, moving forward to take Harry’s hand in his own, warm meeting cold as Zayn holds on.

“I won’t leave this time. I won’t walk away like I have before, I won’t let go. I can’t do this without you… I don’t want to do this without you. I promise I’ll be all in, what I wasn’t before. But I need you to come back to me.” Zayn says, still watching Harry as he breathes.

“Come back to me, Haz.” Zayn says, using the nickname saved specifically for them, and for a moment he kids himself into believing he hears a change in Harry’s heart monitor when he knows there isn’t.

Zayn’s never been good at speaking, preferring to keep to himself and listen to others, learning about them. But it’s funny what you learn about yourself once you finally speak, and sometimes silence speaks louder than words, especially in moments like this. So Zayn waits in silence next to Harry, listening to Jace’s breaths mix in with Harry’s heart, and trying to find peace in the interwoven rhythms.

                                                                        +++

When Jace wakes up, it’s all bit odd.

They’re all standing outside the room for Jace’s parents, but Zayn can see them through a space in the blinds from outside. He sees the doctor place the medicine into the IV attached to his arm, and then he sees Jace’s eyes flutter open slowly, blinking awake.

He hears more than sees Jace’s mum cry out once Jace looks at her and he sees how his parents go to him, hands on his face and chest and tears all over their faces with seeing their son’s eyes for the first time in the two days since the accident.

The boys were able to go in to see him five minutes later, after the doctor looked him over and they deemed it okay. When they go inside, all of them have tears in their eyes, of happiness of course.

“Hey bro” says Niall from the foot of his bed where they’re all standing; a happy, genuine smile on his face that Zayn hasn’t seen for days.

“Hey guys” Jace says back in a scratchy voice, sounding parched. “Funny seeing you all here.”

Liam laughs a little at that, and Zayn just snorts because Jace has always been known to say the weirdest shit.

Louis comes to stand next to Jace’s mum, a look of tentative happiness on his face.

“How ya feeling?” he asks.

Jace attempts what looked to be a shrug before gasping from the pain and tensing, making his parents both flutter around him and start asking a million questions of “what’s hurting?” and “do we need the doctor?” and a “Get the doctor, Tim” and “Stop smothering him, Sam”, all which makes Jace laugh and rolls his eyes at. Zayn and Louis laugh too, knowing it was a constant bickering battle between the two from past experience.

“’M okay, I’m okay. Everything just hurts. Can’t move apparently” Jace says as he relaxes, his mother moving to grab the button to call a nurse and prompting Jace to say “Mum I’m okay, mum, it’s okay, MUM” and making the lads all starts to laugh as a wave of ease washes over them.

That is, until Jace looks at all of them and suddenly asks “Harry?”

And the entire rooms drops dead silent, not even the sounds of their breathing loud enough to be heard.

“Where’s Harry?”

They all look down as Jace looks at them, and his eyes fix onto Zayn, waiting for an answer.

Louis steps up though, taking Jace’s attention off Zayn. “He um, he’s next to you.”

Jace looks to his left at the curtain that’s been pulled out again, something that irritates Zayn, and he flinches when he turns to his left, eyes shutting forcibly as he tenses again and his breathing becomes shallow, his heart picking up speed on the monitor.

“Darling? What’s wrong?” his mom asks, fluttering hands again.

Jace breathes harshly for some seconds before opening his eyes.

“I uh, I just had a flashback, is all. Harry was to my left…” he says as he shakes his head again, and it’s all so sad Zayn wants to throw up for the second time that day.

“He’s alive” Zayn ends up saying, an answer to a question no one asked which makes them all turn to stare at him, Jace in particular.

“Zayn” he says, and Zayn hears everything he’s going to say in that one word.

“He’s alive” Zayn repeats, walking to stand in front of Louis and bumping his fist against Jace’s, like he did when he came in the first time. “Hey bud” he says once he’s closer, and it makes Jace attempt a smile.

“Is he okay?” Jace asks, turning to stare at the curtain again and this time not flinching.

Niall and Louis look at each other as Zayn and Jace’s dad lock eyes, no one knowing who should take the lead.

So Zayn does, for once.

“The truck” Zayn starts off, noticing the way Jace’s eyes somewhat dim at the mention “hit on your side but the car landed on Harry’s side. He, uh, he hit his head against the window and shattered it” says Zayn, clearing his throat and tapping his foot, a nervous habit he has.

Jace is still staring at him.

“He’s in a coma” Zayn says, and he physically sees it impact Jace as his expression falls from worry to guilt and he turns back again to look at the curtain that no one has _moved_ yet.  

“I should have seen it” says Jace, and immediately there’s five voices starting in on how it’s not his fault and that it wasn’t his mistake, Louis cursing the driver hideously but stopping when he sees Jace’s mom turn red at his words as Liam blames workers being overworked and driving too long without rest and Niall blaming no one, and they all try to reassure him but the entire time Jace’s eyes are on Zayn, waiting for his response. Jace’s eyes are filled with worry and guilt and everything Zayn fears for himself, so he stares right back at Jace and says with a loud enough voice

“It’s not your fault.”

Everyone deflates when they hear Zayn speak, seeing as how he’s the one who has spoken about three words to the group in the past couple says, and he sees Jace swallow and look at the genuine expression in Zayn’s eyes before blinking rapidly, clearing his throat.

“Why is the curtain pulled?” he asks once he finds his voice again, and Zayn laughs inwardly as he thinks the same exact thing.

“The nurse pulls it back whenever she comes in and I forget every damn time to ask her not to” Jace’s dad says as he moves to pull it back, exposing Harry in his still comatose state and making Zayn ache all over again.

When Jace sees Harry, he starts to cry and Niall and Liam move to touch him, a hand on his leg with a cast or on his arm without a cast, using touches to show reassurance.

Zayn moves to bump his fist again, and when he does Jace looks up at him and says “I’m sorry” once again to Zayn. Zayn just looks back at him and says gently “it’s not your fault”, words so foreign to his tongue but they’ve been bouncing around him for the past couple days like nothing.

He knows Jace doesn’t believe him entirely, but Zayn knows it’s a start and that’s enough for now. They’re all settling in silence when they hear a knock on the door, and Zayn turns to see Gemma standing at the entrance, looking apprehensive.

“Hi” she says, eyes flickering around the room until they land on Jace’s and her own widen. Niall moves to her and puts an arm around her shoulders as he walks them forward toward Jace’s bed.

“Jace, this is Gemma. Harry’s sister.”

Jace starts to cry more, which makes his mom cry too and Gemma gets misty eyed and even Liam sniffles from Zayn’s left and it’s all too much for Zayn.

“I’m sorry” is all Jace says, and it actually breaks Zayn’s heart a bit.

Gemma moves out from underneath Niall’s arm and walks toward the bed, leaning awkwardly over the edge and hugging him very gently, arms barely holding him.

“You have nothing to be sorry for” she says, and Jace makes a quiet noise Zayn knows is a sob on her shoulder, letting his emotions out. Zayn grabs onto his hand, showing his agreement with Gemma’s words as he squeezes Jace’s good hand. He feels a squeeze back as Jace holds onto him, and he watches Gemma whisper something to him that he can’t hear but Jace nods all the same.

They hear another knock on the door, but this time it’s the nurse coming in to give Jace his medicine. She sees the tears on everyone’s faces and picks up a needless syringe to put into Jace’s IV.

“We have to put you back under” she tells him as she fits the pieces together. “You need to rest and too much stress isn’t good for you right now.”

“I’ve been asleep for days” Jace argues, making a fuss about going back to sleep.

“You need to rest, sweetheart” his mum says, petting his hair.

“’M fine” he argues in a defeated tone, seeing the nurse starts to push the medicine.

“Just listen to the nurse, son” says his dad, standing behind his wife.

Jace grumbles something unintelligible before his eyes starts to shut slowly until they’re completely closed, his breathing evening out and his body relaxing.

Zayn watches him with a hint of envy, wishing he could sleep like that. He normally can, but not in a hospital.

Instead, he grabs a chair from against the wall and places it by Harry’s bed, in between him and Jace and settles down in it, trying to make himself comfortable.

The others watch him settle before doing the same; Niall and Louis settle on the floor against the wall as Liam grabs more chairs for them all, even though Jace’s parents decline a seat and say they’re going to head back to their hotel now that they’ve seen Jace and shortly leave thereafter.

Gemma sits in the chair on the other side, gazing at Harry in a way that seems private so Zayn looks away.

And they wait. Hours and seconds and moments pass by all around them, fluttering like the wings of a butterfly but also passing by like the slow dripping of a barely leaking faucet. They sit and stare and sometimes talk, sometimes eat, and take turns picking something to watch or read out loud.

Zayn never leaves Harry’s side through all of it, even when the nurses try to usher them all out and claim visiting hours are over, Zayn just leaves with them all and then sneaks back in some minutes later, staying there and drifting off with his head on Harry’s bed, next to their interwoven hands.

Harry’s parents are still not able to make it out because there’s huge storm that’s occurring in California, because of fucking course, and their flights keep getting delayed, and each passing day Gemma walks in with her shoulders hunched a little more.

“It’s like when we were kids again, and I would have to watch him while my parents were away at work. I used to hate it” she says one day when it’s just the two of them, the lads all back at the flat eating or resting and Jace gone to take some tests to see his progress. Gemma sits and plays with her hair, leaning back against her chair where she sits every day, across from where Zayn sits every day.

“I use to get all stroppy and make a big fuss about watching my baby brother while all my friends went to the mall or at sleepovers, and Mum would always tell me to hush up and enjoy the time I have with Harry because I would never get it like that again.”

Zayn watches her from across the bed, her fingers now clasped together in her lap instead of her hair, her eyes on her hands. He feels the sadness from her words twist in his gut because he knows where her head is.

“It’s shitty you know? All the good memories I try to keep in my head are sometimes drowned out by the bad ones, and I just feel a million times worse now because we’re here, when I should have always felt this badly about how I treated him sometimes.”

Zayn looks at her and she catches his eye, snorting a small laugh and shaking her head at herself.

“I’m sorry, that’s probably not the best thing to say to you” she says, and Zayn nods before he speaks.

“When I was twelve, my parents died” he says, and it stuns both of them. Gemma tilts her head just barely and stares at him, shocked.

“They um, they actually passed away because of an accident just like this. Truck slammed into them but it was going faster, and they made it to the hospital but they didn’t make it.” He looks up to see she’s still staring before continuing.

“The last thing I ever said to my father was something I’ll never be able to forgive myself for, because it was the worst thing I’ve ever said.” Zayn feels the familiar ache start to tighten his chest, but somehow it’s less uncomfortable than usual.

“For years, all I would think about was how I treated my parents before I died. That’s how I remembered them, thinking of how they looked before they died, you know? I was punishing myself by remembering my parents as result of what I did to them.”

After that sentence, he looks over at Harry, still in the state that’s going to haunt Zayn for years.

“But then I met Harry” he says, and it makes him feel something he hasn’t felt in a long time.

“We met because Louis pushed me into him, only after I told him I thought Harry was fit” Zayn says with a chuckle, remembering Louis’s insistence on making them meet. “He’s a right bastard that one, but he’s always looking out. When we were getting up, he pushed me forward and I ran into him, and when Harry turned around to look at me, I swear I’ve never been more scared in my life.”

“Why?” asks Gemma, watching him when he pauses.

Zayn sighs as he gazes at Harry, hoping he’s actually not listening to this conversation.

“I looked at him and like, I just knew he was more than a pretty face, you know? His eyes were so unguarded, and he looked at me different than most people. You go to parties or kick-backs ‘round here and it’s all about scoring the fittest bird or chatting up the bloke everyone’s drooling over, but it’s never about _knowing_ someone. It’s never on a personal level, but he just. He looked at me, _actually_ looked at me and it scared me more than anything else in my life.”

 “He’s taught me, like, so many things. He taught me how to forgive and be gentle in a way I’ve never been. He’s constantly moving but it’s always, like, a good type of moving, a humble type of motion; and when he’s calm, it always has this massive effect that you wouldn’t think would happen. He always was so patient when people didn’t deserve it, so peaceful when my reflex was to fight. He showed me love when I didn’t see it anymore.”

Zayn turns to look at Gemma now, who’s watching him with soft eyes filled with tears.

“I told him one time I could start fires with what he made me feel. And like, fire burns. It hurts, it’s painful, it’s devastating you know? But Harry’s fire is different, it’s more light than flame, more warmth than burn. It’s everything” Zayn cuts off once he realizes he’s declaring his love to the boy he’s in love with and his sister, the latter one being the only one actively listening.

Gemma’s staring at him with glassy eyes, and she’s smiling a small smile he’s come to recognize as almost the same as Harry’s but not as bright.

He clears his throat, talking when Gemma doesn’t.

“He helped bring light into my life when I couldn’t see past the darkness, you know? I started to remember my parents like, as how we were as a family instead. Like this one time when my older sister cut her own hair in the front, this fucked up little patch of hair in the middle of her hairline, and my mum lost it because we were going to go see my grandfather the next day. My dad cried laughing when my mom told him and he took pictures of my sister, even though she was somewhat crying, and made it the background for his computer. And even though my mom flipped out, it was something we all laughed about for years afterwards, and it was a joke we would always say whenever my sister asked how she looked. My dad would say “better than that one time you chopped off the front part of your hair” and he would get death glares but we would all laugh afterwards, because that’s how my family was. That’s who we were.”

Zayn feels the memory tear up his eyes, happiness and longing mixed in as he aches for his parents but loving the memory all the same. He and his sisters haven’t brought it up since one time after their parents passed, when it made them all smile for a second before they all started crying. But this time Zayn welcomes the ache, the memory, because it was real, it was _them_ , and he’s starting to learn to heal around the pain.

“Harry showed me how to do that, just by being who he is. I don’t know who I would have become if it wasn’t for him” he tells Gemma, looking at her again. “You were right, that first time we spoke in the hallway. He brings out the good in people.”

Gemma reaches over Harry to place her hand on Zayn’s, the contact making him want to flinch back instinctively but he doesn’t. He sighs and welcomes the warmth of her hand over his where it lies next to Harry, and they smile at each other from either side of Harry, and it feels like he’s there with them, his hand over both of them with the way Zayn feels him in his veins.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do if he goes” Zayn says, looking down.

He feels a squeeze of hand over his, and he meets Gemma’s eyes, seeing his fear in her.

“You’re not going to find out” she says, and it’s a promise Zayn tucks into his heart, holding it close for dear life.

They sit like that for a while, hands resting next to someone they both love, and they start to talk about other thing, getting to know each other better until Jace get’s wheeled back in and the other lads show up, bringing chaos with them – in a minor scale, mind you- but all of them hoping and praying as they circle around a boy whose fire is flickering against the wind that threatens to blow it out.

 

                                                                        ~~

Waiting seems to drag hope more than raise it, and the more everyone waits, the worse they all become.

Harry stays still as marble, and sometimes Zayn can’t take it anymore so he goes to leave the room but then he feels the string attaching them pull him back in, making him walk back and sit in his chair again, take out his phone and read in order to occupy himself.

He’s left the hospital only twice so far, both times to go back to the flat to shower and change clothes, sometimes eat, and then head right back. He’s emailed his professors and friends in his classes to send him notes, every single one of them sending back their wishes and prayers that Zayn accepts graciously.

The other lads start going back to class and coming right over when it ends, giving Zayn the notes or books and them all doing homework together in the confinements of Jace’s and Harry’s room.

Jace’s girlfriend, Emily, finally makes it down when she couldn’t before, and it’s just what Zayn expected, a storm of tears and kisses and I love you’s that is cute but also burns like hell. Emily stays for some time, getting to know them all, blushing at everything Louis says while Niall and Jace laugh at him and Liam apologizes to her, everyone laughing at the ridiculousness of them while Zayn watches from Harry’s bedside, holding his hand.

Harry’s parents are on their way finally, finding a shred of luck when the storm subsides momentarily. It’s a long flight from California to England, and then they have to drive to the hospital from London which is going to take some extra time. Gemma explains this all while biting her nails, and Zayn nods in between it all, feeling sorry that she’s here without them.

And they wait. Each passing hour bleaker than before, and each time the doctor comes to check up on Harry, Zayn feels that little splinter of hope lodge itself into his mind and each time the doctor shakes his head without any news, Zayn feels that same splinter press against his thoughts, causing hurt and irritation from the helplessness of it all.

Zayn doesn’t know how he does it, but he manages to stay by Harry’s side the entire time, sometimes napping, other times reading something off his phone. Sometime he curls up on the bed with Harry, lying right next to him and holding him lightly, just needing the contact. There are times where he reads aloud to Harry, because he read somewhere that coma patients can hear you and while it could all be rubbish, it makes him feel better by doing it, like he’s actually communicating with Harry instead of watching him sleep like a creep.

And of course there’s those moments where Zayn breaks, crying into the sheets as he wonders aloud why Harry hasn’t come back yet, if he can hear Zayn. Gemma’s there sometimes, crying with him, or sometimes it’s Louis or Niall or all of them watching with sad eyes and heavy hearts as Harry keeps breathing, just that. They sit and wait and talk about everything they can think of, but everyone has their breaking point, Zayn knows that, but he doesn’t expect what happens when Niall reaches his.

They’re all sitting in silence, Jace sleeping on his bed and Liam and Louis curled up on the floor, talking quietly. Niall is seated in Gemma’s seat because she already headed back to their flat for the night, sleeping in Harry’s room, and Zayn is resting his head on the bed, right next to their hands. It’s the closest they’ve been to peaceful in days, and Zayn soaks it in as much as he can, missing the feeling.

That’s when there’s a yell and what sounds like something breaking, and Zayn jumps and sits up to see Niall clutching his fist with his other hand, a slight indent on the wall from where he must have punched it. And he looks like he’s about to kick it next, his face red and limbs twitching. He’s not looking at them but instead on the floor, breathing harshly and anger radiating from his body, puffing out with each breath.

Zayn’s actually scared.

“Niall, mate, what’s going on?” asks Louis, who jumped up at the sounds as Liam went over to Jace, who had also woken up at the noise.

Niall uses his good hand to pull at his hair, his eyes stormy when he looks at them.

“Why isn’t he awake yet?” he asks hoarsely, eyes flickering between them.

Zayn feels his heart tug because they all understand but Niall and Harry are different, they’re brothers in the way Zayn has Louis, and it makes him want to throw up with the thought of their situations being reversed. But see, Niall doesn’t get angry. He’s heard a story of him breaking a tv once during a pub brawl, actually saw the tv when they visited the place before the owner kicked them out, but he’s always been the one that balances them all out. Harry would always talk about how they would try to provoke Niall but it would never work, because he didn’t have a trigger ready temper like Zayn and Louis did.

But he’s staring at them with all the blood rushing to his face, his injured hand curled into a fist and set by his side, and Zayn doesn’t know how to answer him.

“What’s going on in here?” asks a nurse when he walks into the room, staring at all of them.

“Nothing, nothing. Sorry” says Liam, still next to Jace.

“Doesn’t sound like nothing” replies the man, looking between the lot of them before seeing the way Niall’s hand is bleeding at the knuckles. “Did you punch the wall?” he asks, eyeing Niall with a fixed stare.

“’M fine” he responds tersely, his tone not going unnoticed.

“If you’re having issues, I’m going to have to ask you to leave as to not upset the patient” the nurse replies, and Zayn sees Jace tense.

“He’s not” Jace argues, but it’s in vain as Niall strides out of the room before any of them have a chance to register what’s happening. And before Zayn really _does_ think about what’s happening, he’s out the door and chasing Niall down the hall, following him down the steps and through the corridor, out into the sunlight and fresh air that Zayn hasn’t felt in some time so it knocks him in a weird way.

Niall keeps walking even when Zayn calls after him, walking faster to try to reach him. He’s about to grab his arm when Niall suddenly stops and spins around, making Zayn run into him mid motion and almost knocking them to the ground.

“Niall, fuck” he says as he rights himself, separating them.

Niall doesn’t even notice however.

“I don’t get it" he starts, buzzing like an exposed wire, "It’s been days, Zayn. _Days_. Why hasn’t he woken up yet” Niall says, his voice breaking.

Zayn puts up his hands like he’s trying to calm a dangerous animal, which hey _Niall’s Irish._

“Calm down, mate. You need to calm down.”

“I’ve been calm!” Niall yells at him, shocking Zayn even more. “Harry’s been in a hospital bed for days and there’s no fucking sign he’s getting better or worse, which is somehow just as bad. At least that would be _something,_ would be better than this, this- this stupid hopeless void we’ve all been sucked into. But there’s literally nothing and I can’t take it anymore.”

“Okay” Zayn says, hands still raised but he’s not scared anymore. He understands it now.

“Okay what?” asks Niall, who’s begun to pace in front of Zayn.

“Okay, let it out. You haven’t let it out once, mate. No wonder you’re exploding” says Zayn, and Niall stares at him with an unfathomable expression.

“I… I” Niall says, confused, and Zayn just nods at him in encouragement.

“Scream. It’ll help” Zayn offers as advice, and Niall blinks at him.

“Go on.”

Niall stares for a second more before lifting his head to the sky and yelling a cry so loud it must take everything in him, it’s loud enough that people stop walking on the street across from them and an actual car brakes before going again. A nurse rushes outside and sees them standing there, Niall’s yell lessening with each passing second.

Zayn looks at the nurse and says “he had to let it out,” shrugging. The nurse looks between the both of them and shakes her head at them before returning inside, Niall finally done with his fit and watching her.

“Better?” Zayn asks once he looks back at Niall.

Niall looks at him and takes a deep breath, cleansing his lungs.

“No.”

Zayn smiles at that, knowing how yelling doesn't change anything about their situation but still going along with it.

“I don’t know what to do” Niall says, much gentler than he was just a moment ago. “He’s my best friend.”

“I know” Zayn says, walking up to Niall and taking him into his arms. “I know.”

“I’m sorry” Niall says into his shoulder, hugging him back. “I know this can’t be easy on you.”

“It’s not just me here though, is it?” says Zayn, and Niall doesn’t say anything back, just staying in the encasement of Zayn’s arms. Zayn doesn’t know when he became the watchman of the group, but it’s like if he stays strong for them, he can stay strong himself. He doesn’t know what he’d do if he didn’t have the guys here with him, helping him and giving him something to be strong for.

“He’d be proud of you” Niall says by his ear, making Zayn still. “I know he would.”

Zayn hugs Niall that much closer because of his words, the weight of someone else holding him down from soaring with his thoughts that threaten to overwhelm him.

“I don’t know about that” he says back, and Niall pulls away from Zayn to look at him seriously, more serious than Zayn has ever seen in his life.

“I do” Niall says, and somehow it’s enough because Niall pats Zayn on the shoulder while looking at him, causing Zayn to look down and chuckle, a humorless little thing.

“It’s gonna be okay” Zayn finds himself saying, and something in him clenches around his lungs.

Zayn doesn’t do hope. He can’t do it; he rather be logical and pragmatic with his viewpoints, numbers and figures proving evidence rather than faith and blind desire that people sometimes call wishing. He has scars from hope wrapped around his heart and etched into his bones, he has it seared into his brain like a type of conditioning, where he flinches on reflex away from it. Hope’s never done him any good, has never built him a solid explanation or given him something tangible enough to hold onto, between his fingers as he clutches onto it with everything he has in him.

Despite all that though, Zayn feels it. He feels it drip in his veins like a medicine, soothing and coursing throughout his body underneath the blood and the pain and the anger. He swallows his rationale, his defense, everything he put in place before Harry. Because people like Harry make you do things you haven’t done or feel emotions you wanted to forget, and people like him are like a catalyst. They create progress in a sea of hopelessness, find light in a valley of darkness, and that’s why Zayn hopes now. Because people like Harry don’t just disappear, and he feels it beat in his heart, the certainty of it. Zayn’s been unsure of a lot of things in his life, but not Harry. He’s never been more sure of anything like he is in this moment about Harry.

“He’s gonna be okay” Zayn says this time, more determination in his tone. He looks into Niall’s eyes and finds gratefulness there, because the one thing about hope that’s always true is that hope is contagious and spreads like wildfire to people, for if you look inside everyone, you see they’re all desperate for it, even if they won’t say it.

Niall clutches him around the back of the neck and pulls him in for another hug, burying his eyes against Zayn’s shoulder and nodding, a tremble passing through his body once before letting go.

“Thank you.”

Zayn nods at him, understanding. Everyone needs hope, but not everyone knows how to find it.

“Let’s go back” Zayn says, keeping an arm around Niall and walking back inside, pass the rooms Zayn thought were filled of  pained breathes but are actually filled to the brim with hope. In the words, in the breaths, in the hearts of everyone in the building, it’s all there. Zayn just wasn’t looking.

They walk up the steps and back to the shared room, finding a somber expression on each boys face that must have been there when Niall left.

“Hey Nialler” says Louis, walking forward to pat him on the shoulder.

“Hey” says Niall, looking at the floor. If Zayn didn’t know him better he would say Niall looked almost embarrassed. “I’m sorry about before. This place just gets to ya” he explains, kicking his shoe against the floor. Zayn wants to hug him again.

Why is he so damn emotional.

“We get it” says Jace, from where he’s sitting in his bed, now that he can actually sit up on his own again.  “It sucks in here.”

“No one knows better than you, mate” says Liam in a distracted tone before his eyes widen and he whips his head to look at Jace, cheeks flushing pink. “I’m so sorry” he says to Jace.

Jace just smiles at him and somewhat laughs, a half-assed sort of thing they’ve all been doing as of late. “It’s true though. I hate this place. I had to have the nurse help me in the loo for the first couple days and of fucking course, just my luck, it was always the hot one. I hate this place.”

Zayn feels a chuckle tickle his throat, his lips pulling into a smile. Liam looks less ashamed and Niall and Louis laugh, positive beams of light slipping from between their lips with the sound.

“It could have been worse, I reckon” says Louis, walking over to sit on Jace’s bed with him. “No one could have helped you and you would have had to stay there all night by yourself.”

“Thanks, Lou. Always the charmer” Jace says with a roll of his eyes, smile hiding underneath his pretend scowl until it breaks, the others smiling at them.

It almost feels like normal, and Zayn takes it while he sits in his seat next to Harry, watching them with something like happiness ghosting in his heart.

He looks at Harry while the others chat, their words slipping from his ears as he takes in the boy’s face, the cuts healing and the purple less threatening around Harry’s eyes. There’s progress at least, thinks Zayn, as he gazes. There’s something.

 _You’re going to be okay_.

He thinks the words with all his might as he looks at Harry, squeezing his fingers with his own and hoping it’s enough.

“Oi, Zayn” says Liam from across the room, breaking him from his thoughts, “we’re gonna head out soon, mate. Grab something to eat on the way back to the flat if you want to join us.”

“Thank bro” Zayn starts “but I think I’m gonna stay here” he says while slightly nodding his head, eyes turning back to look at Harry. “I’m going to stay” he says, looking back at Liam with a small smile.

“Keep me company” says Jace, looking at something on the phone that Niall’s showing him.

“Yeah. Gotta keep them company” Zayn says, still smiling when Jace looks up to shoot him an obnoxious smile that’s quite over the top. It makes Niall laugh.

Louis, however, is looking at Zayn with unrecognizable look while Liam says “Thought so, just thought to ask.” Zayn thanks him while looking back at Louis, raising an eyebrow in confusion but Louis shakes his head and looks away before anything could come from their exchange.

A nurse pops in then, smiling at all of them.

“Hi, don’t mean to interrupt but we have to take Jace for some check-ups again”, to which Jace groans at.

“I hate this place” he says with a grumpy tone, making the others laugh.

“Also, we’re moving you to another room” the nurse says nonchalantly while the boys all stare at her, confused.

“Wait what?” asks Niall.

The nurse goes about her duties while answering them “Doctor’s orders.”

“I don’t want to switch rooms” says Jace while the nurse is unplugging him from the last of the machines that he barely needs each passing day, all the while Jace is trying and failing to move from the bed. “Why am I switching? I want to stay with my friend.”

“I don’t know why exactly, but it’s orders. After your tests, we can talk to the doctor but as for now your new room is down the hall” she responds.

“He doesn’t want to move” says Louis in a terse tone, Niall and Liam behind him. “That’s not okay.”

“I’m just following orders” the nurse says, tone losing any politeness it had in the beginning. “Like I said, after everything you may talk with the doctor about it.”

“You should have a reason for us though, instead of just taking him away” argues Liam, Niall nodding.

The nurse looks between them with a hard glare, not relenting.

“I’m _sorry_.”

“That’s bullshit” says Zayn suddenly, angry. Why are they dividing them?

“If you have a problem with it, you can leave” responds the nurse, eyeing Zayn unappreciatively. She’s been one of the many who have let Zayn stay when he wasn’t supposed to, so Zayn should probably shut up right then.

So of course he doesn’t.

“I’m not-“

“It’s fine” interrupts Niall, looking at Zayn. “It’s fine, we’ll talk to the doctor after the tests.”

“Niall-“

“Shut it.”

The nurse looks between them all before nodding once, stiff, and starts rolling an irritated Jace out of the room.

“We’ll see you soon, don’t worry” says Niall, bumping his fist delicately against Jace’s chest. Jace reaches up to grab Niall’s hand, holding it in his.

“Too late” he says, and Niall rolls his eyes while Louis and Liam finally step forward, Zayn still by Harry’s side.

“Don’t be such a baby” teases Louis to lighten the mood, and it does, just barely. Jace flips him the bird while Liam rolls his eyes and Niall somewhat laughs. Zayn’s friends with a group of idiots; but they’re his idiots.

“Are you moving someone else in here?” asks Zayn suddenly, the thought freaking him out a bit.

“It’s likely, if your friend stays down the hall” she replies, and before Zayn can argue with her Niall sends him a look that clearly tells him to shut his trap.

“Thank you” is all Niall says to the nurse when Zayn had another choice of words in mind.

“We should probably head out” says Liam as a distraction, lightly tapping Jace on the shoulder before the nurse pushes him away. “Gotta grab some food and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, go. Be off. Don’t want you here anyway” says Jace, lips still downcast.

“Alright, alright. Enough with banter, I’m hungry” interrupts Niall, him, Louis and Liam all getting up and collecting their things that have been strewn all over the place. “We’ll see you guys tomorrow” he says, motioning to he and Zayn and, also, Harry.

“You two go on, I’ll catch up. Need a chat with Zaynie here” Louis says after a pause, Liam and Niall looking at them weird.

“About what?” asks Liam.

Louis rolls his eyes yet again and starts pushing them out the door.

“Go warm up the car, it’s bloody freezing outside. Go on. I’ll be there soon” he says.

Liam grumbles at him while Niall shakes his head and grabs Liam’s sweater to drag him away. Once they’re out the door and down the hall, Louis walks over to pull at a chair he was using earlier from where it was against the wall and places it next to Zayn, by Harry’s side.

“Hey, H” he says, bumping Harry’s fist. Hmmmm. Maybe that’s where Zayn got it from.

“Sup Lou?” asks Zayn, eyeing him warily.

Louis looks at him with unguarded eyes, movements soft and presence gentle.

Oh fuck.

“We haven’t had a chance to actually talk about this” says Louis, watching him.

“Okay” says Zayn, playing dense.

Which of course Louis picks up on as he huffs out a breath, eye’s doing that sarcastic thing they do so well that pisses Zayn off.

“’M fine, Lou” he says, eyes now on his hand where it traces Harry’s on the bed, feeling the dry skin and making a mental note to ask Niall to bring Harry’s lotion tomorrow.

“You’re fine?” Louis asks incredulously, tilting his head.

Zayn sighs, looking back at him.

“I’m as fine as I can be” he says honestly.

“You always need to vent” Louis says, watching him. “That’s how you work. Hence why I’m here.”

And it’s true, Zayn’s always fine because Louis is right there next to him, an anchor throughout the waves. But the thing is, Zayn’s been venting every day. In his little heart to hearts with Gemma, helping Niall through his frustration, reading out loud to Harry. He’s been finding these outlets he didn’t know existed and he feels the load he’s been carrying since that first day lessen, albeit fractionally.

“I’ve been venting, Lou” he says, tone soft. “I’ve been finding new ways. Not to like, forget you or anything”

But Louis waves him off, unaffected. “No harm” he says. “I’m glad, I just wanted to make sure.”

“You don’t have to watch over me so much, Lou. I’m a big boy now” Zayn teases, just barely knocking Louis in the shoulder.

Louis grabs at his hand and holds it in his, smiles falling into something serious but not somber. “You know I always will” he says, looking at Zayn with those blue eyes that are sometimes more frigid than ice but other times are deeper than the ocean.

Instead of talking, Zayn looks down at their linked hands, squeezing his fingers. Zayn can deal with a lot of things, but not with Louis being obviously affectionate; it breaks Zayn down to the core.

Louis nods, taking his hand away from Zayn’s to wrap it around the back on his neck instead, bringing him close so he can knock their foreheads together in that overly affectionate way Zayn fears.

“Your dad would be proud of you” Louis says, and Zayn tenses more than he ever has before, pulling away from Louis and actually curling in on himself.

“Louis” he says through gritted teeth, actually rising up.

“Hear me out, okay?” Louis says in a chill manner. “Just let me speak for once.”

“Lou” Zayn says again, watching him from his chair.

Louis moves back to give Zayn space but continues talking.

“You didn’t run away, Zayn. You’re still here” he starts, keeping Zayn’s eyes while Zayn’s more than sure his heart is going to explode. “You’re taking care of everyone, from Jace to Niall to Gemma, who you didn’t even know until some days ago. You’re growing up, Zaynie. He’d be proud, they both would.”

Zayn feels cracks in him that he’d forgotten about start to spread open again, words sharp as daggers as he takes them in. He feels arms circle him but he’s got his eyes shut closed and he’s breathing harshly and pinching the bridge of his nose, trying to swallow back all the emotions threatening to rise up and spill over.

“I’m proud of you” Louis says as he hugs Zayn, his chest against Zayn’s jaw. “I know they would be too.”

Zayn doesn’t remember grabbing onto Louis but he must have because his arms tighten around Louis’s body, bringing him closer. He feels his heart calm down after a minute, and then another minute goes by and he’s not hugging Louis as tight anymore, can feel his lungs working again. He’s feeling guilt battle against the warmth melting around his heart, but he welcomes both this time, accepting them both as truths.

“Thank you” Zayn says once he finds his voice again, finally letting go of Louis and wiping at his eyes where tears started to gather. He doesn’t say anything else because he feels like there’s a cactus in his throat but Louis understands, always understands, as he looks at Zayn with that smothering mother look.

“Love you” Louis says, and where at one time Zayn would have rolled his eyes at the words and made a joke, he now looks at Louis with a serious face, eyes meeting blue.

“Love you too” he says back, voice tight but working nonetheless.

Louis taps him on the shoulder once before kissing his head, picking his stuff up, and walking out of the room, leaving Zayn alone with his boy and his thoughts.

He turns to look at Harry, unaware in his comatose state, and he feels tears prick at his eyes again.

_You’ve been so strong_

Zayn can find a million reasons to disagree with that statement, but he’s currently looking at the only reason that matters that proves it true.

 _He makes me strong_.

Zayn runs it through his head like a lyric, searing it into his memory as he watches Harry breathe.

“You make me strong” he says out loud, hoping with everything in him that if Harry can hear him and manages to only hear one thing out of everything he’s said, that it would be this.

Zayn thinks about it all the way through to the end of visiting hours, where one of the regular nurses brings him a blanket to use for the sleep he’s going to be having, knowing better than to kick him out because he’ll just sneak right back in.

He thanks her as he climbs on the bed, careful not to move too quick as to not hurt Harry’s injuries, always wary of the cast on his arm or the bandages around his head. As Zayn settles with his arm around Harry’s middle, his head on the pillow next to Harry’s shoulder, he thinks of his dad, and how he use to be with him. How he was strict but kind, tough but loving; he thinks about the traits he hated in his father before, and now sees them with appreciation because he gets it now. He sees it, why his father was always so careful with things like Zayn and his sisters. It was to protect them, keep them close, keep them safe. Zayn sees his dad in himself, and he feels that hammer against his chest, every beat of his heart like an ache of a promise, missing his parents.

_He’d be proud. They both would_

Zayn thinks of them, misses them, and feels a new feeling in his heart that he can’t quite name yet, but it feels a lot like healing.

He falls asleep with Harry’s heart monitor like a lullaby to his dreams.

                                                           ~~

No. It’s can’t be morning yet. Zayn refuses to let it be morning yet, even though he feels a pull at the covers, making him grunt. When this bed became so uncomfortable, he’s not sure. There’s too little room for him seeing as how Harry takes up all the space, like he always does, taking the blankets too.

He shifts a little in his sleep when he feels the blankets being tugged harder, like when his gran would wake him up for school by pulling his sheets off.

“Louis, let me sleep” he mutters against the pillow, trying to convey all of his annoyance in his tone.

“’m cold” comes a response, and it makes Zayn sigh.

“Sharing is caring” Zayn responds, muffled against the pillow as he begins drifting back to that comfortable cloud of sleep he was just in. He’s falling closer and closer to the edge, almost seeping into black, when suddenly –

He springs up from the bed, blinking against the darkness as he looks to his left.

Because that was most definitely not Louis’s voice, and it most definitely is not Louis’s form next to him.

He feels his heart in his throat, feels every emotion kick and scratch at him as he looks to his left, pulse racing in his ear and his hands sweaty, trembling against the sheets.

Because…

“Harry?”

There’s no movement from the dark shape of Harry’s body next to him, not enough light in the room for him to see clearly. But the silence in the room is answer enough for him.

It was a dream. It was only just a dream.

Zayn feels the disappointment burn like acid, searing his insides and making him close to crying, yet again, because it was so real. It was so real. It was so, so real, so fucking real. Zayn leans forward, placing his elbows on his legs as he takes deep breaths to steady himself. He’s trying not to cry, not letting it all come crashing down now, not yet. Not just yet. It’ll be okay, they’ll be okay.

He wants to throw up.

Once he’s battled the tears away, he leans back again against the bed, the covers underneath him ruffling and tugging as his weight shuffles them. He throws an arm over his eyes, the other hands reaching out and feeling for Harry’s hand to slip his fingers between them, where they fit perfectly. He squeezes once, holding onto Harry’s hand as he holds onto hope. Sleep feels like a distant planet now, the black against his eyes from the back of his eyelids no longer comforting and warm, now just a blackboard against the thoughts that threaten to destroy him.

Like a heartbeat, there’s a pulse against his hand.

Except it’s not a pulse.

It’s a squeeze.

“M cold” says a voice so beautiful to Zayn’s ears it makes him cry.

Zayn sits up this time and twists so quick he almost falls off the bed, leaning over Harry’s frame.

“Harry? Harry??” he shakes with each syllable, brushing Harry’s stray curls out of his face, looking for his eyes. They’re closed still, and Harry’s still as ever, but Zayn heard him.

He heard him.

“Harry” he tries again, hope breaking his voice. This time he’s much gentler, like he’s walking on thin wire that’s breaking with every step he dares to take with blind faith.

_Harry_

And this time, it breaks everything.

“I’m cold” says Harry yet again, shifting on the bed, and Zayn actually falls off the bed this time.

“HARRY.”

Zayn climbs of the floor, hitting the light switch as he gets to his feet and when he does, all he sees is green.

Harry’s on the bed with his head turned toward Zayn, one eye open and squinting against the light before blinking and both of them opening, looking at Zayn.

Harry’s awake and looking at Zayn, and it’s not a dream.

Zayn’s about to jump on the bed when he takes in Harry’s expression; because he looks confused. He’s awake and he’s looking at Zayn like, like….

Like he doesn’t recognize Zayn.

“Harry?” Zayn tries, hoping with all his might that every horror story about amnesia will stay just that to them. Stories.

Harry blinks at him, eyes focusing on Zayn’s face with a look so confusing Zayn feels his dinner start making its way up his throat. The longer Harry stays silent, the more anxious Zayn gets until it’s too much, too nerve breaking and heavy for his heart. He’s about to start walking back to the door, to get a nurse when-

“Zayn?”

Zayn’s never liked him name. It’s never been a part of him in the way it should be, in the way it fits against the pieces of his heart and rings true to every corner of his body. But when Harry says his name, it fits just right.  He feels every fear, every ache, every sorrow filled thought drop off his shoulders, air so pure it hurts rushing into his lungs and vision watery but clear, fresh, new.

It’s like Zayn is new again.

“Harry” Zayn says as he takes off toward him, closing the distance with three long steps and climbing back onto the bed, wrapping his arm around Harry and burying his face against Harry’s neck, holding him close.

“Oh God. Harry, oh God” he cries, feeling Harry’s arm circle around Zayn and making him cry even harder with the contact, Zayn never feeling so grateful for anything in his life.

“Zayn?” Harry asks again, probably so confused as to where he is and what’s going on and why Zayn is a disgusting mess on him. And that’s when logic creeps back into Zayn’s brain and he remembers he should call a nurse, so he presses the button by Harry’s bed, the light turning red as a signal of hope that Zayn never dared to give himself but had all along.

Zayn pulls back, tears streaming down his face as he smiles a genuine smile, not the half assed thing he’s been doing with the lads but an actual, real smile that hurts his cheeks.

“You came back” he says to Harry, who’s looking less confused and more concerned at Zayn’s behavior, where he must seem somewhat deranged.

“Where did I go?” Harry asks, a confused baby deer look on his face so adorable Zayn might actually throw up.

“Away. You were away but you came back.” he says as he presses closer to lean his forehead very gently against Harry’s, breathing him and his presence, his voice, his warmth, his tilt of his neck, everything in and letting it make everything calm in his head for the first time in a long time. “I missed you so much” he says into Harry’s skin, hoping to burn the words into it so that Harry never forgets.

“We broke up” Harry says, and it makes Zayn so happy, ironically enough, because Harry _remembers_.

“Yes we did” Zayn says with a laugh, and Harry’s definitely concerned about him now, a weird smile playing on his corners making him so beautiful it’s like the sun is shining directly on his face.

Which it is, because Harry came back.

The nurse opens the door then, her face changing from shock to alert to comically sappy as she takes them in, curled together as Zayn cuddles Harry close on the bed that was too small before but much too large now.

“Someone’s up” she says, walking out to get the doctor probably and smiling as she goes. Zayn doesn’t watch her, keeping his eyes on Harry and promising himself to never look away ever again, happiness so raw it actually hurts his body as it seeps into it. Harry’s looking back at him, all beauty and grace and everything Zayn’s ever defined as love.

“Hi love” he says, leaning forward and pressing his lips against Harry’s with the lightest of pressures, being sure to be careful with him. Harry kisses him back, hands finding Zayn’s arm and his cheek, wiping at the tears that fall on his skin.

“Why are you crying so much” Harry asks once he pulls back, eyes crinkling. “Why are we in the hospital?” he asks then, lifting his head and turning to look around the room, eyes crinkling as he looks around curiously. At one point he flinches and grunts, hand coming to touch the left side of his head, where it met the window in the crash.

“Ouch” he says, eyes squinting as he looks at Zayn. “What happened?”

“You were in a crash, love” Zayn says, “with Jace. A truck ran a red and hit you in the intersection, and you hit your head pretty hard against the window. You’ve been in a coma.”

Harry’s looking at him with wide eyes, unblinking, unmoving really. Zayn doesn’t think he’s breathing.

“Harry?” he asks in a nervous tone.

Harry swallows before shaking his head, stopping when he flinches again. Zayn moves to hold his head, cradling it. “Stop shaking your head so much, babe” Zayn says, looking into Harry’s eyes.

“Sunset” Harry says, causing Zayn to look at him weirdly now.

“What?”

“I remember thinking how pretty the sunset was. On our way to see you” he says, looking back at Zayn. “I was going to see you.”

“I know” Zayn says, but he bites his tongue before launching into this conversation because the door slides open and the doctor walks inside, smiling bright at them, with a nurse trailing behind him.

“Hello, Harry. I’m Doctor Reynolds. It’s good to see you awake” the man says as he walks over to wash his hands, drying them before walking over to stand by Harry’s bed.

Zayn moves to get off the bed, but a hand reaches out and grabs him, stopping him from moving too far. He looks back to see Harry looking at him with worried eyes.

“Don’t go” Harry says, for what feels like the billionth time between them.

This time, though, is different, because Zayn says “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

He pulls the chair closer to the bed as he possibly can, sitting in it and taking Harry’s hand in his own, keeping contact.

“How are you feeling, Harry” the doctor asks, looking at the screen with Harry’s vitals before looking back at him, the nurse next to him with a clipboard.

“Groggy, a bit. Confused. I’m really thirsty, actually” he says, and Zayn looks around for the water bottle he was drinking earlier.

“Yes, that’s common. We’ll get you water soon, I just have to do some tests first” the doctor says as he steps toward Harry with his doctoral instruments.

“I have to call and tell them you’re awake” says Zayn, but Harry doesn’t let go of his hand so Zayn stays, taking out his phone and dialing the number.

“Hello?” comes after the fourth ring, voice alert and not tired at all, despite it being four in the morning. “Zayn?”

“Gemma, he’s awake” he says, smiling into the phone as he says it, the reality of it settling in and making his eyes water again as he watches the doctor look into Harry’s eyes, cradling his head in a way Zayn thinks is supposed to be searching for something.

Harry tries to turn at Zayn when he hears his sisters name, asking “Gemma?”, everything confused.

Zayn hears a sob on the phone, and he knows Gemma heard Harry say her name. “Thank God” she says through her tears, and the next thing he hears is a very loud

“NIALL.”

Zayn smiles as he hears footsteps running, a door opening and Gemma speaking quickly.

“Niall, Niall you oaf get up, GET UP” to which there’s a grumbling as a response before he hears a loud thud and a yelp of pain, making Zayn snicker.

“Bloody hell, Gem, what the fuck. What the hell, what time is… what the. Why are you crying? Gemma, why are you crying?”

“He’s awake.”

Zayn can hear her smile through the phone.

And then.

“EVERYBODY WAKE THE FUCK UP NOW.”

And there’s yelling and noises of surprise and grumpiness and all things chaotic as three boys and one girl try to leave the flat as quickly as they can, Zayn listening to it all.

“Zayn?” he hears, voice breaking him from where he was watching Harry follow the doctor’s finger with his eyes.

“Yeah?”

“I see the good in you, the one Harry sees. Don’t forget to tell him what you’ve told me.”

Zayn smiles while crying again, muttering something along the lines of a thank you while Gemma promises to be there soon before hanging up, his eyes turning back to Harry who’s speaking with the doctor.

Harry doesn’t have any brain injuries that the doctor can see, and aside from a bruised head and some soreness, Dr. Reynolds doesn’t see anything wrong.

“We’re going to do some extra tests of course. I’m going to order a CT scan for now, after that we’ll look at more options, but for now we’ll stick to that, alright?” he says, still smiling at him, like always. They both nod and Dr. Reynolds starts scribbling something onto the clipboard before handing it back to the nurse to look over, turning back to Harry.

“It could have been much worse. You’re very lucky” he says, which makes Zayn want to roll his eyes because it’s something all the doctors say.

Except when Harry turns to look at him, all Zayn sees is the truth of those words framed along the green of Harry’s eyes.

_We’re the lucky ones._

Dr. Reynolds and the nurse walk out, saying they’ll be back soon to take Harry to get his test done and walk toward the door.

“We’ll let your friend know you’re awake” says the nurse, making Harry look at Zayn with a raised brow.

“Jace” is how Zayn responds as he passes Harry the bottle of water he had earlier, Harry’s expression goes from confused to worried in less than a second as he grabs the bottle.

“Oh my god, Jace, I actually forgot. Oh my- is he alright? Where is he? What happened to him?” Harry starts to ask, making Zayn stand and cradle his head again in hopes to calm Harry.

“He’s okay, love. Has some broken bones and will probably be on crutches for a while but he’s alright. He actually was in here with you while you were sleeping, but they moved him to another room yesterday. He’s going to be okay, though. We’re lucky” Zayn says, leaning down to kiss Harry’s forehead and watching in delight as Harry’s eyes flutter at the contact.

“Alright” he says after Zayn pulls away, blinking up at him as he drinks from the bottle, draining it in one go and giving it to Zayn to throw it in the recycle.

Zayn still can’t believe Harry’s awake, even though he’s holding Harry right then, green eyes blinking up at him and warm hand clutching his, but it’s all so new Zayn feels a fear he’s never felt churn his stomach.

“Why do you look like that?” asks Harry, brows furrowing in confusion.

Zayn swallows as he looks at him, but he’s not scared of this, of talking to Harry. He doesn’t think he ever will be again.

“I’m scared” he says, brushing Harry’s curls with his fingers. “I’m scared this is a dream and I’m going to wake up and you’ll still be sleeping and I’ll be gutted all over again.”

Harry squeezes his fingers and pulls, bringing Zayn closer so that he climbs onto the bed with him again, always closer. Even though they’re technically still broken up and he hasn’t actually spoken to Harry in a while, it’s so easy to fall back into this push and pull between them, where one pulls and the other follows. It’s so easy to climb back into Harry’s warmth and settle there, where it feels like home. Where it’s always felt like home.

“I’m here” Harry says, looking at him with those deep eyes Zayn knows so well. “It’s real. I’m here.”

“You’re here” Zayn says, getting emotional again and beckoning himself not to cry, but knowing he will anyways.

Harry looks at him with a smile that Zayn missed so much and he feels like it’s been years since he’s seen it. Zayn sighs against Harry’s hand where it rests on his cheek, feeling the brittle hairs on his beard scratch against Harry’s palm before he turns to kiss that very same palm, loving the way it feels against his face.

“Was that my sister I heard you ring earlier?” Harry asks then, making Zayn still from where he was nuzzling Harry. He turns to look at him, gauging his reaction.

“Yes, she’s here. With the lads, actually” Zayn responds, tone gentle.

“You met her?” Harry asks, eyes boring into Zayn and Zayn letting them, feeling unguarded.

“Yes I did. She’s lovely” he says, grabbing Harry’s hand where it fell from Zayn’s face, landing between their bodies on the bed.

“Does she know who you are?” Harry asks, gaze unrelenting. Zayn suddenly feels nervous answering this question for some reason. He would never lie to Harry about this, the thought not even crossing his mind, but Harry’s possible reactions _do_ cross his mind and they make Zayn unsettled.

“She knew who I was before we even met” he says honestly, eyes never leaving Harry’s face.

Harry’s biting his lip, suspenseful.

“And that is?”

“Well” Zayn starts, looking away before looking back at Harry, remembering to keep his eyes on him “in her words, I’m the bloke that broke her brother’s heart.”

He’s expecting shock and nervousness or confusion and maybe even anger as all possible reactions, but he does not expect the calm expression Harry’s currently sporting, eyes soft.

It throws Zayn.

“Are you mad?” Zayn asks, unsure.

Harry smiles at him then, confusing Zayn even more but somehow not at all surprising seeing as how Harry never ceases to do exactly the opposite of what Zayn expects.

“I’m not, actually” Harry says, looking at him. “Gem and I have always been closer than peas, so I’m not at all surprised she caught on. ‘ts hard to hide anything from that one. I’m sorry you had to meet her like this” Harry says, looking at Zayn, “and that she approached you like that. She doesn’t have a filter sometimes.”

Zayn smiles at him and kisses the space between his brows until it smooths out and Harry stops frowning.

“It wasn’t exactly like that” Zayn says against Harry’s skin, feeling the boy laugh and making Zayn smile wider.

“What was it like then?” Harry asks, watching him. But then he pulls back and looks at Zayn with a new expression, one Zayn doesn’t like.

“Wait, we’re broken up” Harry says, and Zayn feels panic clutter his brain.

“Technically” Zayn says, and Harry raises a brow at him.

“Technically?” he asks.

And here we go.

Zayn takes a deep breath before talking, eyes fixing onto Harry’s and his free hand reaching for Harry’s free hand as well, holding both of them.

Here he goes.

“That night, with the trip and all that happened” and Harry scowls, sending an ironic sliver of joy down Zayn’s spine because he _remembers_ , “we broke up because we didn’t want the same thing. And like, I understood, you know? You didn’t want to hide, and it wasn’t fair of me to ask you to. And you kept asking me to leave and saying bye to me, even though I didn’t want to leave.”

“You still did, though” says Harry, expression now sad, making Zayn want to kiss it away. But he keeps talking.

“I did. You’re right, I did. Because I thought what you were asking was more than I can give, and so I left. And that’s literally the worst excuse ever, and I see that now. I see everything now, Harry, I do.” Zayn says, holding Harry’s hands tighter and watching him.

“I’m sorry, Harry” Zayn says, feeling his heart clench. “I’m so sorry, that’s was so horrible of me to do and I don’t have any other reason than I was scared. I was scared of what you were asking of me and  what it all meant and who I would be and, and…” he says, wanting to look away but forcing himself not to, to let Harry see him in this pool of vulnerability that he always tried to hide from him.

“I was more scared of who I was becoming than of losing you, and I almost paid the price for that, and I’m so sorry. I’m sorry for making you think being with you isn’t so important to me, for wanting to hide you and not understanding what that would do to you, for being so inconsiderate and unappreciative of you and what you’ve done for me. Because you mean the world to me Harry, you always will. I’m sorry I didn’t realize that before” he says with all his breath, feeling the weight of his confession settle among them.

Harry’s looking like he’s torn, eyes wet and threatening to spill over and flood them both because Zayn never wants Harry to cry, never wants to be the reason that Harry cries ever again.

“You’re only saying this because of the crash” Harry argues, and although it’s weak it still stings Zayn, but he knows Harry needs this, needs to hear him fight, like he’s never done before.

“It looks like it” Zayn starts, “but it’s not. The crash, you in a coma, it was like a wake up call” Zayn says as he looks down to their hands, opening his fingers to spread Harry’s, feeling his warming skin before looking back at him.

“You were right, you know. I’ve acted like a madman since I met you, and I was ridiculous and reckless and no wonder I scared the shit out of you. I guess, like, I just thought if I faced death, like, frequently, I wouldn’t be so scared of it anymore? Like after my parents, it was all I thought about for a year. I walked to school every day, I wouldn’t go near a car, I wouldn’t let my sisters go in a car, and when they did I wouldn’t be okay until they came back home again. I slept with my grandparents for a year because I was scared that I would wake up one day and they would be gone, and we would be left again” Zayn confessing, tongue burning but continuing anyway.

“And after a year, I got tired of being scared you know? I hated it, so I decided to stop acting like I was scared. So I became reckless, and I forgot what it felt like, to watch someone you care about act like that. And when the crash happened and the doctor came out and told us you might never wake up again, I don’t think I’ve ever been more scared in my entire life, because I knew, you know? I know what it’s like to lose the people you love most, and knowing how that was and thinking about how my life would be in a world where you didn’t exist….” Zayn swallows, shuttering against the thought “it terrified me.”

Harry’s crying now, but he’s listening and Zayn sees it as an opportunity and takes it.

“And I met Gemma” Zayn says with a chuckle, eyes flickering along Harry’s face “and I don’t know. She helped me see things. She helped me see what you’ve done to me, how you’ve helped me. I’ve told her things and like, she just made me see things in a different light, and I suppose you almost dying had something to help with that.”

He lets go of Harry’s hand now in order to place it on Harry’s cheek, letting his touches speak the words Zayn wants to say but can’t fit into this confession.

“You’re so good” he says, brushing Harry’s cheek with his thumb, “you’re so so good. I’ve never met anyone with such a kind soul like yours. You’re sweet and smart, kind and passionate. You’re beautiful, gorgeous, and just such an amazing person. You’re the stars in my sky, the wind in my hair, the air in my lungs. Your love is like a star to me, brightest on my darkest nights and even when there’s light, I know it’s always there. You’ve always been there. You’re everything I’ve learned to run away from before because no one can hurt me like you. Because you’re everything, Harry.”

Harry’ s tears are wetting Zayn’s hand with how frequent they are but Zayn doesn’t care.

“I want you.”

He says with a finality he feels tremble his bones, quake underneath every truth he’s ever known in life, a tremor under everything he’s built a foundation on.

“I want you. In whatever way that is. I’m not vain enough to say it’s not because of the crash, but it’s not _just_ because of the crash. It’s you, it’s always been you. Even before, when we were apart, I texted you if we could talk because I knew even then that it was you for me. It’ll always be you. I’m so sorry it took me this long to say it like this, to understand. But I want what you want. What you were asking for. I don’t want to hide you. I don’t want to lose you, lose us, because someone like you doesn’t just walk into my life everyday, and it would be the biggest mistake of my life to let you walk away from me.”

Harry’s staring at him, hand limp in his and the other on his lap, eyes wet and overflowing as he takes in Zayn’s words, looking into his eyes and Zayn hoping he sees how genuine he’s being.

“You could change your mind once you forget about all this” Harry argues, yet again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forget this, to be honest, and regardless, I wouldn’t” Zayn answers.

“You could-“

“I won’t” Zayn says, leaning forward to place his forehead against Harry’s, pressing closer. Harry’s breath hitches and his hand clutches onto Zayn, pulling him closer while his words push him away.

“I will never change my mind about you. Not when you drive me insane with your million questions, or when you break every mug in my kitchen, or when you hog all the blankets during the middle of the bloody winter, I won’t change. My answer will always be you.”

Harry’s hand fists in Zayn’s shirt, his nose brushing against Zayn’s and breaths hitting Zayn’s face with each puff he makes.

“I can’t change who I am Harry” Zayn whispers, eyes on Harry’s closed ones “and you are a part of me. I will never stop feeling this for you. So please let me show you. I’ll show you every day, like you deserve it” Zayn says as he presses his lips against Harry’s eyelid, softly kissing it.

“I’ll be what you want” he says as he drags his lips across Harry’s skin to the other eye, kissing it as well. “I’ll burn with every spark you make me feel” he says as he kisses along his eyes, down his cheek. “I’ll try everyday to be the man you deserve, if you let me” he says as he kisses along Harry’s jaw, making him shiver when he noses at Harry’s throat.

“I’ll never look away” he says, an echo of a long time ago, when their biggest problem was Zayn trying to ignore this in the beginning, even though he knew it was a matter of time before he wouldn’t have been able to anymore.

“I won’t run away” and he kisses the corner of Harry's lips. “I won’t let you go.”

Harry sobs then as he wraps his arms around Zayn and hugs him closer, so close his tears are hitting Zayn’s face.

“Don’t let me go” Harry says quietly, every emotion filled into those four words as Zayn wraps his arms around Harry’s waist, clutching onto him as gently but as forcibly as he can. “Please don’t let me go, Zayn. I’m tired of feeling alone without you.”

“I won’t leave” Zayn says against Harry’s lips, just barely hovering over them. “I won’t let go of you. You won’t be alone anymore.”

And Harry kisses him. He kisses him slowly but not so gently, lips bruising his and sliding against Zayn’s and all Zayn feels is peace. The peace of warm fires on cold nights, of beautiful words whispered in the dark, of coming home. Zayn’s come home.

They kiss for seconds but it feels like a century worth of love compressed into it as Zayn pulls back to peck Harry once before kissing his forehead. “Gotta be easy, love” he explains when Harry looks at him warily, confusion etched into his eyes. “You just woke up, and we have company coming.”

Harry nods at that, kissing him again and Zayn letting him because he is a weak man when it comes to Harry, something he suspects he always will be but pleasures in thinking he’ll get to be weak for the rest of his life.

“Don’t go, okay?” Harry says after they stop kissing. More like he says it between kisses because he keeps chasing Zayn’s mouth and Zayn lets him, never going to deny Harry that pleasure ever again.

“I won’t” Zayn promises, holding Harry as close as he can without fear of squishing him. It’s going to take a while before he can look at Harry and not think _fragile_.

But Harry’s not fragile. He’s strong, and he makes Zayn strong, and that’s all that matters.

“How are the lads?” Harry asks as he moves to settle on Zayn’s chest, Zayn lying back against the bed to hold him closer.

“Insane, the usual. Jace’s girl, Emily, is here. Nice girl, blushes at everything Lou says though.”

“Well of course she does, Louis’ a bastard” replies Harry, and Zayn laughs at it, missing the sounds Harry brings out of him.

“I missed the way you make me laugh” Zayn says, kissing Harry’s forehead. He feels Harry’s smile press into his chest, lips burning past his clothes and inking themselves like a tattoo on his chest. It gives Zayn an idea.

“Well, I have some jokes, if you really want to laugh” Harry says with a smile, and Zayn smiles at that.

“I actually did quite miss your horrible taste in jokes” Zayn teases, earning him a slap at his chest.

“Oi, they’re amazing, thank you.”

“Hate to break it to you, babe, but…”

“You’re horrible, I’m in a hospital and this is how I’m treated.”

It makes Zayn laugh as much as it makes his flinch. Harry must notice because he holds Zayn tighter. Zayn runs his hand up and down Harry’s back, loving his warmth and the way his body can fit against Zayn in the best way possible.

“Tell me a joke” Zayn says then, lightening the mood.

Harry lifts his head then to look at Zayn, eyebrow raised.

Zayn just smiles at him.

“Alright” Harry says before a smile takes over his face, ever the most cheerful person Zayn’s ever met, other than Niall but that’s a different type of cheerful, more like drunkenly happy with that one.

“Have you ever seen an elephant hiding behind a strawberry?” he asks, and Zayn already sighs at it.

“Heeeyyy” Harry says with a frown, poking Zayn’s chest “ you asked for one.”

“I know, I know. Okay, no I haven’t.”

“That’s because it’s hiding” Harry says with the utmost confident smile Zayn has ever seen, and Zayn groans into his laugh, laughing hard.

“Why” is all Zayn asks between chuckles, and Harry keeps smiling at him, taking in Zayn’s reaction.

Just then, there’s a knock on the door and the next thing Zayn sees is a blob of blond and brown hair and tears as Liam, Louis, Niall, Gemma, and even Jace walk - or wheelchair - into the room quickly, coming straight to Harry’s bedside.

“Harry’’ says Gemma, walking around Zayn to get to Harry and pulling him in for a hug, holding him close.

Harry goes in to hug her back tightly, letting her bury her face into his neck. “Hey Gem.”

“God, don’t scare me like that ever again” she says as she cries, but when she pulls back she’s smiling and wiping her tears away.

“Seriously” says Niall, walking over to Gemma’s side and pulling Harry in too, closing his eyes with it. “Please don’t” he says seriously, and Zayn kind of aches at how emotional Niall is being because, well, it’s Niall.

“I’ll remember not to” Harry says against Niall’s shoulder, which earns him a knock in the arm, although it is gentle, Gemma and Zayn look ready to pounce on anyone who comes close to touching Harry the wrong way.

“Hey man” says Jace from his wheelchair, and when Harry looks at him his eyes are wet. “Good to see your eyes, mate” Jace says as he wheels his chair closer and grabs Harry’s hand from Zayn’s lap, where it was holding his knee like he was holding him in place.

“Hey bro” says Harry, smiling. “Good to see you too. Quite a ride we took there, eh?”

“Yeah” laughs Jace, cringing slightly. “Let’s never do that again.”

“Agreed” says everyone in the room, and it makes them all laugh.

“Good because this was one of the shittiest weeks of my life” says Louis, looking at Harry and Zayn. “Hey mate, missed you. Don’t do that again.”

Harry rolls his eyes at them all, laughing at it.

“I’ll try not to” he says, and Zayn scowls at him. “Don’t frown, you’ll get wrinkles” Harry says before leaning forward and Kissing Zayn sweetly, pulling back with a smile before remembering everyone else, mainly his sister, and pulling away with red cheeks.

“Cute” says Gemma, watching them with a smirk on her face that makes Harry blush deeper.

“Shut it” he says at her in a grumpy tone before his expressions evens out. “Where’s mum and pop?”

“They’ll be here soon. There was a storm in California and they couldn’t get a flight and once they did they had to drive here. They’re almost here I think. I should probably call them and tell them you’re awake.”

“That’s so weird” Harry says, wrinkling his nose. “I don’t feel like I’ve been asleep, other than being tired really.”

“Not much happened, we mainly just fooled around in here and almost got kicked out a couple times” says Liam, smiling at Niall.

“So pretty much the same thing as always” replies Zayn, laughing at them. “Not much else.”

“Still weird” says Harry, but he’s smiling again.

“I bet” says Gemma, touching his shoulder, Harry grabbing her hand with his, the one not intertwined with Zayn’s.

The nurse walks in then and smiles at all of them. “Hi, sorry but I’ve got to take him to get some tests done. Won’t be too long.”

She walks over to disconnect Harry like she did with Jace the other day, and Zayn hops off the bed and stands, feeling Harry’s hand hold his tighter.

“Stay” he says, looking at Zayn. It makes Zayn blush as everyone watches them.

“I don’t think they’ll let me go with you, love” he says squeezing his hands.

Harry frowns at him and turns to the nurse, asking “can he?”

“Sorry, he has to stay here. Won’t be too long, I promise.”

“I’ll be right here when you get back” Zayn promises, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

Harry sighs as he does it, nodding his okay even though Zayn can see the worry in his eyes, the same Zayn feels in his from being separated from Harry when he’s just barely woken up.

As the nurse wheels Harry out, everyone smiles at him and once he’s gone, they all just stand there smiling at each other, looking like idiots. Harry’s awake, and while he’s getting tested at the moment, Zayn somehow knows it’s going to all be okay.

Niall’s the first to break the silence as he walks forward and hugs Zayn, patting him on the back.

“You were right” he says into Zayn’s ear, before pulling away and letting go of Zayn. “It’s going to be okay.”

Zayn looks at everyone then, Louis and Liam chatting while Gemma kneels down to Jace’s level and talks with him, everyone having a glow that they’ve all been missing, everything and everyone looking brighter than Zayn’s seen them before and him loving it all the same.

He feels lighter, better, and it warms him to the core as his eyes settle back on Niall, smile never leaving his lips.

“Yeah” Zayn agrees, letting the words be both a lesson and truth all at once, soaking it in.

“We’re gonna be okay.”

                                                                       ~~

Progress is nothing without challenges, Zayn learns, and he sees it with the way Harry tries adapting to therapy, both psychological and physical.

He has all these tests that examine his mind and body, both exhausting him and frustrating him as he learns things he already knew before but having to go over again, making sure everything works perfectly. Zayn goes with him to every visit, and he waits in his chair every time until Harry’s done, sometimes meeting him with a grin and sometimes kissing away his scowl, always being there to wheel him back to the room.

Zayn notices progress within them as a couple, the challenges they face looking less ominous as they tackle them together instead of apart.

When Harry’s parents finally make it to the hospital, Zayn’s knocked off his feet.

Harry’s mum is beautiful, deep brown hair and beautiful green eyes on a tan face, although when he first sees her there are tears everywhere.

“Oh my gosh” she says as she hugs Harry, practically falling on him as Gemma and her dad fidget around them, worrying.

“Mum, don’t crush him!”

“Anne, darling, he’s in the bloody hospital, don’t attack him.”

“Both of you shush” she says, holding Harry tight. “I’m holding my baby” he says, crying into Harry’s hair. “Oh my gosh, I was so scared” she says, still crying.

Harry’s dad walks over to Harry’s other side and hugs both of them, head on top of his wife’s.

“Hi pop” says Harry from somewhere underneath his parents.

“Hello son” his dad says back, and Zayn watches from where he is standing as Gemma walks over and hugs them too, a family moment.

Zayn doesn’t ache when he sees it though, like he thought he would. All he feels is joy at seeing Harry’s parents hug him, showing their love.

“I’m suffocating” says Harry, making them all pull back but his mum sitting on the bed next to him, keeping an arm around him.

“You had me worried, sweetheart” says his mum, brushing his hair off his face and Harry smiling as she does it, loving the attention.

“’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your vacation.”

“Of course you didn’t, darling. We only had like two days left and we already saw so much. It’s not a big deal.”

“But still-“

“It’s alright, son” says his dad, laying a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We’re happy to be here.”

Harry smiles up at them, and right when Zayn thinks he should leave, Harry looks over at him.

“Mum, Dad, this is Zayn” Harry says as both his parents turn to look at Zayn, making him uncomfortable.

He’s about to walk forward to shake their hands and say hello, when Harry suddenly says it.

“My boyfriend.”

The air in Zayn’s lungs literally freeze at that moment.

Gemma’s eyes are probably as wide as Zayn’s as she looks between her parents and Zayn, her hand coming to scratch at the nape of her neck.

Zayn stays frozen as he watches them both, not sure if he should smile, or maybe wave? Should he wave?

_Of fucking course you don’t bloody wave, you idiot._

“Hello” he says, stepping forward and offering his hand to Harry’s mum, smiling. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry’s mum looks at her husband and then back at Zayn. For a moment, Zayn is terrified she won’t shake his hand back and that she’ll toss him out of the room and oh god this is going to end badly why did Harry break the news _now_ of all times, at the bloody hospital for God’s sake-

He feels a warm hand in his own, and he sees an equally warm smile as Harry’s mum looks Zayn in the eyes and says “Nice to meet you, Zayn. I’m Anne.”

“Anne” Zayn says back, turning to face Harry’s dad who’s already got his hand out, ready for Zayn.

“I’m Des” he says with a smile similar to Anne’s, and Zayn feels like crying.

Harry actually looks like he’s going to cry. Gemma’s smiling and shaking her head.

Zayn wants to throw up.

He doesn’t though.

“Nice to meet you both” Zayn says with a smile, shaking Des’s hand and letting go to step back, not sure what to do in this particular situation.

“Harry, why didn’t you tell me you had someone?” she asks in a disapproving tone, but disapproving in a _why have you been lying to your mother_ type of way and not a _when did you become gay_ type of way.

“I wanted to keep him to myself for some time” Harry responds, shrugging with cheeks red again. “Gem’s already got to him though.”

“Sure did” Gemma says, sending a wink to Zayn that he just smiles back at.

“Oh Christ” says Harry as he watches them, and it makes Zayn smirk before remembering Harry’s parents and dropping it quickly, nerves getting the better of him.

“I’m, uh, going to go get some food and run some errands. I’ll come pick you up in a few hours?” Zayn asks, wanting to take Harry home because he’s being discharged but also wanting to give Harry some time with his family.

Harry looks like he’s going to protest.

“Why don’t you come eat with us” asks Des with a smile, beating Harry to the punch. Harry looks in awe at his dad, eyes wetting again and Zayn feels gratitude bloom in his chest.

“Thank you, but I need to get some stuff done first. Plus, you should have some time together, as a family” Zayn answers, hand motioning in the air awkwardly, because that’s what Zayn does best. He’s awkward.

“You should come” Harry argues, pouting. He’s like a damn puppy that gets a look on his face like Zayn kicked him if he says no.

It doesn’t work this time, though. (Okay it does a little but Zayn really does have errands to run.)

“I want to, but I really can’t. Maybe tomorrow though?” asks Zayn, and when did Zayn Malik become the type to make plans with his boyfriend’s parents is something he never thought would happen, but it is and it’s so worth it.

“Sounds lovely” says Anne, standing up to hug Zayn. “It was so nice to meet you.”

“You too” Zayn says as he awkwardly hugs her back, because wow. No.

“See you soon” Des says as he extends his hand, Zayn shaking it with all the gratitude he can muster.

“Tomorrow” says Gemma as she comes to hug him, smile still in place. “It begins tomorrow.”

“What begins tomorrow?” Zayn asks, eyes widening.

“Gemma, stop scaring him away” complains Harry from his bed, moving to stand now that he can without help.

“Honestly, you make us sound crazy” says Anne, to which both Gemma and Des respond “we are.”

Zayn smiles at all of them before walking over to Harry, moving to kiss him but stopping when he realizes his parents staring at them. He blinks at Harry before awkwardly hugging him, to which both Gemma and Harry laugh at the ridiculousness of it. But Zayn is definitely not kissing Harry in front of his whole family, there’s no way.

“See you soon” Zayn says, hugging Harry closer for just a second before pulling away, awkward the pure definition of Zayn Malik in that moment.

Harry just smiles at him then and Zayn pulls away before he’s forced to kiss Harry out of pure need, and he walks out of the room with a wave to everyone and a promise of lunch tomorrow with them all, heart so light and happy it could burst in his chest.

He runs his errands and sets up everything for Harry’s welcome home party they’re all throwing, from cake to beer to vodka to balloons and a massive banner that reads “WELCOME HOME”, to which is now covered with red penises because no one- meaning Liam- was watching Louis and no one – meaning Niall – hid the sharpies. Emily, Niall, Liam and Zayn all set up while Jace and Louis try to stir chaos and mess everything up and after some hours Zayn grabs his keys and responds to Harry’s text of _I miss u :(_.

 _Coming, babe_.

“Be back soon” yells Zayn, grabbing the keys of Emily’s rental car she’s using while visiting.

“No sex in the back of the car!” yells Louis, making them all laugh and Emily blush.

“Fuck off” Zayn says as he closes the door, smiling all the same.

When he gets to the hotel Harry’s family is staying at, he spots Harry waiting outside, sitting on a chair and wrapped up in a thick petticoat, skinny jeans and Chelsea boots as is attire and it makes Zayn’s heart swell with the image.

Harry walks to the car, Zayn about to get out to help him until Harry yells at him not to, calling him outrageous.

“I can get the door, Zayn” he says when Zayn stands from the car, Harry making a show of opening the door all by himself.

“I know that” Zayn says, rolling his eyes with a smile. “Just wanted to take care of you, is all.”

“Take care of me huh?” Harry says with a smirk as he buckles his seatbelt, and Zayn thinks that maybe Louis’s idea was a good one after all.

“You’ve been out of the hospital for all of four hours and you’re already itching for some action” Zayn says as he shakes his head fondly, reaching over to grab Harry’s hand, a feat in itself seeing as how it’s still in a cast.

“Always will” Harry smiles back, and Zayn shakes his head again, smile growing fonder. “I hate this thing” he says, motioning toward the cast and the hand Zayn is laying his hand over, too difficult to actually try to hold.

“It’ll be gone soon” Zayn says, squeezing his hand gently.

They drive in silence back to the flat, soaking in the hum of the engine and letting the calm surround them like an old friend.

When they pass by one of their favorite parks, Harry makes Zayn pull over.

“Harry we have people waiting for us” Zayn argues even as he parks the car.

“But please” Harry says, pouting and Zayn narrows his eyes at him. “Just five minutes.”

“Harry.”

“Pleeeeeeeeease.”

And Jesus Christ, fine.

Harry smiles wide when Zayn doesn’t say no, opening the door and getting out while Zayn follows suit, walking over to be beside Harry and grabs his hand, the one not in the cast, and they start walking toward the fountain together.

“Thanks for warning me about your parents by the way” says Zayn as their hands just barely swing between them. “I love being blindsided like that, so much.”

Harry actually seems somewhat bashful, pulling on Zayn’s arm to walk them over to the grass area and sitting down, pulling Zayn with him.

Five minutes, yeah right.

When Zayn settles down, Harry snuggles up next him, arm around him and head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, sorry.  I should have warned you. It just slipped out, honestly. I wanted to tell them over dinner, just us and see their reaction first, but when they saw you I don’t know, something came over me and I just wanted them to know, you know? What you are to me” Harry says, looking down.

And honestly.

“It’s okay, really” Zayn says wrapping his arm around Harry and lying back on the damp grass, the chilly night air seeping through his jacket and making him pull Harry closer, wanting to keep him warm. “I’ll admit I did freak out for a second, but I think it went alright.”

“They like you” Harry says against Zayn’s chest, cuddling him. “They kept asking about you at dinner, who you were, where you’re from, how we met. It was nice but a bit overwhelming.”

“It was good though” Zayn shakes, his lips in Harry’s curls, warming them with his breath. “How did you feel about their reaction?”

“Better than I could have ever hoped” Harry says, and it makes Zayn smile to feel how happy Harry is. “I didn’t know if they were going to take it well, but I didn’t care anymore. I want everyone to know that I’m in love with you.”

Zayn feels a different type of warmth spread throughout his body, from his head to his toes and everywhere in between as he soaks in Harry’s words.

“Everyone already knows I’m in love with you, so…”

“Hush up” Harry says with a smile, moving to settle more onto Zayn’s chest.

Zayn watches the black of the sky and thinks about the stars, how small they look but only because they’re so far away, and how Harry’s like a star, bright and burning and brilliant against the dark of the night.

“Tell me something pretty” Harry chuckles into Zayn’s neck, wrapping his arm around his waist to pull him closer, melting into each other.

“Pretty?” Zayn muses, laughing as Harry’s hair starts to tickle his ear and cheek.

“Yes pretty, poetry boy” Harry says as he snuggles closer, which causes Zayn to snort at the name because really. Just because he’s an English major, it does not make him automatically love poetry. (Zayn loves poetry.)

Zayn feels high with every touch of Harry’s skin on him, better than any drug could ever make him feel as they lie wrapped around each other in the grass at the park they both love.

Zayn is quiet as he turns and presses his lips to Harry’s forehead, running his fingers through Harry’s curls. Their breathing is soft, like feathers in the air, brushing against them with light touches.

"I wrote you a poem, the, uh, the other day" Zayn says against warm skin, followed by quiet, weighted wait as Harry hears his words.

Harry pulls back to hover over Zayn, eyes wide and imploring. He looks just the least bit shocked.

"You did?" 

Zayn feels his heart in his throat. 

"Yeah."

Harry keeps looking at him, eyes searching Zayn's and pooling with tense emotion with every second. 

"Tell me." 

Zayn thought it would be harder to tell Harry than this, when he's looking at him with those green eyes he loves so much and his body warm against him, but it's not. It's easier to open the door and let Harry in now, easier than when he tried to fight.

Zayn clears his throat, ready to recite the poem he wrote one night by Harry's hospital bed as he was looked out the window and all he saw were stars.

“ _We burn like the stars,”_ he starts, pausing for a moment as he skims his lips across Harry’s skin.

_Like a drop of white against the darkest black of the night_

_Like the beat of drum against the silence of the past_

_It's like the burning of the stars as they shine in the night_

_We burn in the night_

_Our love shines like the stars_

_We fall when we fly_

_Only until we find the light_

_Only until I find the light_

_Of your love, that shines brighter than stars_

_Your love's like a star of bright white against the black night_

_Like the pulsing drum in the silence of the past_

_Like the burning of a flame against the coldest of winds_

_We burn in the night with the brightness of stars."_

Harry ‘s breathing has stopped against Zayn’s face, and his heart tightens, a lump forming in his throat because he’s scared Harry won’t like it or that it’s not good enough.

But he kisses Zayn.

And Zayn kisses him back, arms coming to wrap around Harry and hold him close, close to the warmth of his heart where their love shines brighter than any sun could ever hope to be.

“Our love is like the stars” Harry breathes between kisses, his fingers settling on Zayn’s face as they kiss languidly, letting their lips set their own pace.

“It burns every night, and stays every morning” he says as Harry’s lips still, hearing the words bounce off his and onto Harry’s, like an echo of confirmation.

“It’s always there” finishes Harry, looking at Zayn with wetness in his eyes, a smile taking hold of his face. “I’m so lucky to love someone like you.”

Zayn bites his lip as he cradles Harry’s, watching his boy smile back at him.

“I’ll love you forever” says Zayn, staring back at Harry as Harry’s eyes fill more with happy tears.

“Forever and always” replies Harry, settling his head over Zayn’s heart, where his loves burns brighter than any star in the sky.

And they stay settled like that for some more minutes, letting the sounds of the night be the soundtrack of their moment other than their mixed breathing and heavy kisses that they share so naturally.

Zayn finally remembers the party, and he pulls Harry up with him as he reminds him of their impatient friends who have probably already broken something in the flat.

They walk toward the car, arms around each other and hearts even closer, beating one rhythm they both feel in their chests, the sound of a love that burns brighter than any sun keeping them company as they make their way home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it :] feedback much appreciated!
> 
> [tumblr](http://harryandtheprince.tumblr.com/)  
> if you want to chat


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